


i'm so tired...

by BuckyVaRog



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Diners, M/M, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-07-27 02:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20038579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyVaRog/pseuds/BuckyVaRog
Summary: Billy doesn't want to be so angry anymore. He doesn't want to be alone. It's going to take a lot of work.It's called a redemption arc, theydies and gentlethems.(post s2--s3 re-write)





	1. November, ¹⁹⁸⁴

**Author's Note:**

> title is of course from the troye sivan/lauv song but like. it's just billy's mood this whole fic.
> 
> i wrote this like two years ago and am finally posting it because s3 really got my shit ahem fuckt. up.
> 
> i have a terrible track record with updating so like, it'll happen when it happens but i /do/ already have two additional chapters written up and like clear direction of where i want this baby to go so. 
> 
> BE WARNED THIS IS SLOW BURN AS HELL it's also mostly a study of like billy as a character and a redemption and also a re-building of billy and max's relationship cus im SOFT for sibling love
> 
> so if you Love billiam, this is the fic for uuuu
> 
> kudos and comments always welcome and VERY appreciated

Sometimes life fucking sucks.

Sometimes it's your own fault, and sometimes other people fuck your shit up.

Billy somehow managed to get both ends of the stick.

He huffs, opening his eyes slowly to see the sky still dark outside of his window. Gritting his teeth, even as the bruise on his jaw aches, he rolls onto his side. 

Fucking Steve Harrington. 

He ignores that odd little twist in his gut and swings heavy legs over the edge of the bed, slamming the blaring alarm's snooze button. 

Billy is familiar with bruises, he’s familiar with aching, he’s familiar with regret.

He is not familiar with guilt.

But that’s what this feeling is; nasty and gripping, Billy fumes every time he has to see the damage he’s done plastered all over that pretty boy face.

He goes through the motions of getting ready. Same tight pants, same shirt not buttoned nearly enough, same wildly curly hair. He bares his teeth to his own reflection, snarl on the verge of escaping.

_ Worthless. _

He flares his nostrils once and sucks his teeth furiously before slamming out into the kitchen. Max is there with her board and breakfast plate empty.

They haven’t spoken since that night at the Byers’. She follows him out though, in all of his silent, aromatic rage. He hasn't bothered her or her merry band of twerps, and he figures that's why she hasn't given him any grief.

Despite their stand-still, the drive to school is charged. It's been building up these past three weeks, but finally he feels it, deep down. He feels like he’s cracking open.

Neil’s nagging has also been absent as of late, taking Susan out for nights at a time and returning too wasted to do more than crash. Billy thinks it's some kind of test to see if he slips up in his now very strict care of Max.

It’s sick really, the way he feels like he needs it. To be struck, hurt, taught a lesson. With it he feels powerless, without it he feels lost, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Either way he’s fucked. Fucked in the head.

“Billy?” Max’s voice nearly startles him. He doesn’t respond, keeps his eyes ahead.

“I can just talk then, that’s fine. Ya know, I’ve been playing this—”

“_ What, Maxine _?”

He hears her sniffle in indignation and rolls his eyes.

“You should apologize to Steve.”

Billy’s head turns so fast the wheel moves with it. Max shouts his name in time with him correcting their path, furrowed eyebrows back to the road.

“Now, why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because you’re an asshole, and he’s not.”

Billy’s jaw ticks, aches. “What’d you just call me?”

“You don’t scare me, Billy, did you forget Johnny already?” She shouldn’t be as menacing as she is.

Billy finds himself asking, irritation turning to anger quickly, “Who the fuck is Johnny?”

“He got pretty up close and personal to your manhood.” Max snorts and Billy is mildly worried when the smirk on her young face is too close to his own.

That freaky fucking bat.

“Just—Shut up.” He grips the steering wheel tighter, tearing into the school parking lot.

He plans on waiting for her to get out before he composes himself properly. She doesn’t at first, though; instead she leans over the middle console to look him close in the eye.

He sneers at her proximity and backs up a little.

“Wha—”

“Johnny.” She says simply, and then is out of the car and skating to the school building.

Billy exhales angrily through his nose, banging the palm of his hand on the steering wheel a few times before getting a hold of himself.

He hates this. The stupid power she holds over him now, how close she is to those geeks, to fucking Harrington. He takes a few deep breaths before checking his hair in the mirror, straightening his clothes, and throwing up that smirk.

\----

He thinks on it for only two days.

“Have you done it yet?”

“Shut the fuck up, Max.” Billy hits the gas hard, making sure the bruises on his face hurt with his ugly scowl.

\----

School and the power he holds in it seems to be the last thing Billy fully has control over and his mind throws him into a loop of obsession. 

He fucks around more in class, paying attention to gossip and shitheads and sneering at anyone that passes him in the hallway.

But he’s tired and angry and e_ xhausted _ . He doesn't feel like himself, _ hasn't _since that night. Still, Billy throws out half-hearted taunts to Harrington in practice, the other boy’s face discoloured but mostly healed. He’s still hard to look at, especially when his head is turned for Billy to see the stitches on his forehead.

Steve just dribbles on, crossing over, bobbing and shooting, making it every time. He doesn’t even bother acknowledging Billy’s comments, just plays the game. When it’s over and Billy’s team has won by just a hair, he foregoes a shower all together. Instead he dresses quickly and races out to his car, chest expanding and stretching and skin pulling tight. 

He recognizes this as an anxiety attack. 

This is what has been building, he thinks distantly.

Billy doesn’t stop even when he hears his name being called, just keeps walking, almost jogging really, until he locks himself in the Camaro. His head is bent onto the steering wheel, white-knuckling it as he tries to get his breathing under control.

He can’t.

He can’t breathe, not past the water making its way up his throat.

“Hargrove! _ Billy _!”

Sound snaps back to him and he opens his eyes, vision blurry. His chest is still moving too shallowly but he focuses on the irritating tapping on his window and an annoying voice calling for him.

“Hargrove?” It’s muffled through the closed window but he knows who it is.

He closes his eyes again, sniffling roughly, forehead rocking against the wheel before he brings his head up slowly. He makes sure his eyes are hooded and dark, not revealing himself fully. 

Steve Harrington’s are big and wide and bright with irritation, breath puffing out white mist against the cold. Billy grimaces.

It takes him a second to roll down the window seeing as he has to turn on the car, but opening the door is a no-go.

“Well,” He throws up something resembling his normal smile. Something nasty. “If it isn’t King Steve.”

Harrington doesn’t seem fazed by the nickname. He's got a look on his face, like he's got something to say but is holding out. “You okay?”

Billy scoffs, looking out of the wind shield. “What the fuck is it to you, pretty boy?” He watches Steve out of his peripheral; Steve does seem fazed by that, lips twitching down.

“Why do you always have to be a dick?”

Billy can’t help the loud laughter that chokes up his throat. He thinks that's a funny thing to ask when Steve still wears the evidence of their fight. Turning a sharp eye and sharper smile to Harrington, he settles with, “Someone's gotta do it.”

Steve’s face grumps up. Before he can respond Billy asks, “Why are you following me, anyways, got a death wish?”

Harrington stutters. “Well—” He looks around, avoiding Billy and blows a puff of air out puckered lips. “Max said to keep an eye on you, or like, watch my own back probably.” When he turns back to the other boy Billy has a dangerous look on his face.

“You listen to everything those runts tell you, now, King?”

Surprisingly Steve laughs, huffs, annoyed again. “Yeah, they've got me a bit whipped." He shrugs a little.

Billy doesn't know what to say for the first time in perhaps his entire life. He just sits there, grip too hard on the steering wheel, and stares at Steve Harrington.

Steve gets that wary look again. A little bit like it pains him, he asks, “You sure you're good?”

Billy doesn't remember saying anything about being ‘good' but if agreeing will get the older boy away from him and his car he'll nod the fuck away.

Steve gives a short nod back, still looking over his face. He walks back a little slow, half turning before saying, “You leaving or gonna come back for last period? I can take Max home after AV club.”

This boy's kindness despite that he should be anything but infuriates Billy. He blows steam out of his nose and smiles real ugly.

“You gonna be my bitch, too?”

Steve's mouth turns into a thin line, healing bruises contorting. “Fine, dickhead, deal with it yourself.”

It's not until Billy is _ sure _Steve is too far to hear him that he yells “wait!”.

But Steve does, and he turns around with an impatient frown. It prompts Billy to scramble out of the car, anger still steamrolling his stomach, but something else so much more present.

“Listen--Harrington--I just, I just wanna say--Fuck--” His hands twitch for a cigarette. Especially when Steve puts his hands on his hips in a stance he's sure he's seen Susan use against Max. Which, frankly, looks ridiculous when all he's wearing is a tight t-shirt and gym shorts and _ Jesus _ he's gotta be freezing. “Harrington,” He tries again. “I'm--I'm sorry about your face.” He grimaces at himself, shifting unsurely.

Steve stares for a solid ten seconds before snorting. “That it's so much better lookin’ than yours?”

Billy grinds his teeth. “That I went too far, I didn't mean to take shit out on you.” His fists are tight balls by his thighs.

Steve's still got a funny look on his face, searching Billy as if to find a lie, a farce. When he's apparently satisfied with what he sees he looks away, hands falling from his waist. He looks mildly defeated. “Yeah, alright, not sure I'm the only one you should be apologizing to.”

Billy grunts a little. _ Sinclair. _

_ “Fine _,” He grits out. This seems to take Steve by surprise because his head shoots up. “I’ll apologize to the little termite, am I forgiven?” He hopes Harrington runs off and gabs to Max.

Steve snorts again. “Not even close, you fuckin’ psycho,” He turns away. “It's a start, though.” And then he's walking away, legs looking like they're turning pink from the chill. “Coach wants to talk to you, by the way,” Like it pains him to throw a bone.

The knot in Billy's stomach tightens and loosens in quick succession. He waits until Steve has gone inside before following after.

\----

Billy walks around school like a zombie. He does what he's supposed to, makes all the right jabs and jibes, smirks and flirts with who he's supposed to, lets Tommy mooch off of his popularity.

He watches Steve a lot, too. Measures time by the bruises on Steve's face and his own knuckles.

\----

The only good thing about this shit town seems to be he can find solitude in the back roads and admittedly spooky forests. He can blast his music, windows rolled up and heat blasting, and pretend he's not in the middle of absolute fucking nowhere.

Until police sirens drone over his Metallica tape.

“Shit,” He pulls over, looking into the rear view mirror. Maybe it'll be a lady cop, maybe he can seduce her into letting him off.

He checks himself in the mirror quickly, fluffing up his hair and plastering on that winning grin of his.

As soon as the cop is out of the truck, though, he can tell it's all for nothing.

He doesn't roll down his window until he absolutely has to and even then it's only a smidge, keeping as much cold air out as possible.

He tries his grin anyways. “Can I help you, officer?”

The man leans down, stern, and voice absolutely no nonsense. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

Billy puts on a look of innocence, pretending to flounder. “Uh, I dunno, sir, I was just on my way to pick up my sister.” He smiles sheepishly. “I'm sorry, sir,”

The man's mouth turns down severely and suddenly Billy feels like he's looking right into his father's face. His smile falters and he doesn't have the energy to bring it back up.

The pig must notice because he sighs roughly, rubbing a hand through his beard.

“Can I see your license and registration.”

Billy sees it's not really a request and reaches into his glove compartment, fishing out both.

The cop gets this look on his face as he peers down at the ID. “You the kid that beat up Harrington?”

Billy swallows hard. “What's it to you?”

He sighs one big gust of air. “Ya know,” His lips tilt into a sarcastic kind of smile. “I should write you a ticket but I'm just gonna let you take this as a warning, alright, no more goin’, seventy-five in a thirty-five zone.”

He hands back the information a little terse.

Billy nods curtly, looking out of the windshield and gripping the wheel. “Sure thing, officer,”

“And no more hitting people!” He yells it back as he walks away.

Billy doesn't peel away until he does.

He pulls up at exactly four, right as the kids are jogging out, talking animatedly. On any other day he would be focused on how annoying it is, but his attention is pulled away from thoughts of police officers and speeding tickets to Steve Harrington, as it so often is. He's got a smile on his face as the curly haired one bounds over to him, like he's trying not to show how amused he is by the kid's shenanigans. He's startled out of his one sided staring contest when Max opens the passenger side door.

“Lucas is coming over.”

Billy looks over slowly, watching as Sinclair slides into the back seat stiffly, looking at the older boy with dark, bold eyes.

Billy considers this. Neil and Susan have been out often enough he's sure it will be safe. He simply nods, ignoring the appraising look from Max.

He doesn't look at Steve as they pull out but swears he feels his eyes.

\----

It's not until they're an awkward five minutes into driving that Billy turns down the radio, clearing his throat a bit. He's not sure why apologizing to a middle schooler seems to be harder than apologizing to Harrington but he works his jaw over.

“Sinclair,” He begins quietly. “I should--” Fuck why is apologizing so hard. He bites hard on the inside of his cheek, swallowing any pride he may have left. “Sorry, to all of you brats, but--like, you...”

Billy doesn't take his eyes off the road as he waits for a response. Any response.

“Uh,” Sinclair stutters for a moment, and Billy raises an eyebrow as he hears Max fidgeting from her seat. “Uh,” He says again and this time Billy does look back. He's met with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “Yeah, I mean, yeah sure, just like, don't mess with us again.” 

Billy scoffs at the kids faux confidence. “Wouldn't dream of it,” There's only a tad but of sarcasm. 

\----

No one is home when Billy pulls into the driveway and he thanks any gods looking down on them for that mercy. He ignores the note on the table demanding food be made for Max and beelines right for his room, happy to leave Max and Lucas to their own devices, even when it's so entertaining pretending not to notice the nervous looks from Sinclair.

He's decidedly exhausted by the time he’s slumping heavily onto his bed. He's always exhausted, but he feels this bone deep.

Billy puts on a tape, a mix an old friend made him before he had to leave town. Iron Maiden taps out the beginning of _Running_ _Free _and Billy falls carelessly onto his lumpy mattress. Lighting up a cigarette, he relaxes his muscles, his bones, his nerves. He wishes he had pot but knows he could never get away with smoking it here; his father would have a bitch fit.

“_ Billy _!” He groans, eyes opening slowly as the sound of Max’s pounding continues incessantly.

He groans at the effort it takes his tired body to roll out of bed and open the door.

“What?” He doesn't try to sound less annoyed than he is.

“Can you make us food? There's a note.”

Billy makes a face. “You're thirteen, can't you figure something out your--” That's when he sees the headlights, hears the telltale signs of his father's car.

Panic must read pretty clearly because Max is quickly ushering him to the kitchen, nearly pushing him over in her haste.

“Alright, alright,” Billy says quietly, ignoring the way his hand and voice trembles slightly.

He breathes deeply at the angry storm darkening in his gut. It's something that tends to work its way up his throat until there's nothing left but to punch something, anything, anyone. Instead, he goes about pulling down a pot and getting a box of mac and cheese ready.

Max and Lucas sit at the table just as Neil and Susan come stumbling in. Billy doesn't turn around, just continues to fill the pot with water to set on the heating stove top. His hackles raise; he had miscalculated.

“Billy who's this?” Billy only has a split-second to be worried over Neil's tone before Lucas is answering for himself.

“Lucas Sinclair, sir,” The kid even stands up and offers a hand. Jesus, too bad Neil Hargrove could give two shits.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Billy keeps his breathing level despite his mind's caution signs flashing red. “Him and Max are friends, they came back to play a board game.” He's not sure that's why Lucas is here but it's a good enough reason.

All too quickly he's being jerked around and shoved up against the counter. He grunts in silent protest as his arm is pressed to the burning pot. 

“You're telling me,” Billy keeps his face stone against his father's rancid breath fanning over his face. “You let your sister hang out with _ those _ kinds of people.”

“Dad--” He panics as the hand around his neck tightens and realises his mistake. Only vaguely does he see Max ushering Lucas out of the kitchen, the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut. Susan is nowhere in sight. Neither of them have had to see it like this before.

“Sir,” He amends. “I tried--”

“Not hard enough, Billy, and if I so much as hear of this being allowed again,” He leaves the sentence unfinished but gives one last hard squeeze before letting go.

Billy gasps for breath only twice and then is spinning around to the sink to put his burned wrist under cold water. He hisses slightly as it is already darkening. He feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes and suddenly he's angry. So fucking angry.

He warned them, he _ told _them, and now he has a nice reminder as to why that had been in the first place.

When he's sure Neil is in the living room he storms back to his room, not bothering to turn off the stove.

He slams the door shut and relishes momentarily at the sound it makes, practically reverberating through his bones. It's not enough; he needs to punch something.

The mix tape is still on and Van Halen’s _ Amsterdam _ fills him up.

He lets out a frustrated scream, kicking the nightstand by his bed, picking up a cup that had fallen with it and smashing it against the wall. The music drowns out all of his anger, all of the smashing and yelling until his arm is stinging from the lack of adrenaline and there's a timid knock on his door.

He almost doesn't answer but knows it's at least not Neil.

When he swings it open he must look a little manic because Max’s eyes widen and he hasn't seen that look in a while and he's _ satisfied _. She did this.

“Are you okay?”

“You little shit,” Billy hisses, grabbing the front of her jacket and backing her up into the wall.

“Billy!” He distantly realises she's keeping her voice low. Distantly, he knows this is not the worst his father has ever done, but it's everything, all crashing at once.

“I _ warned _you not to hang out with him.”

“You didn't tell me your dad was a racist, I thought _ you were _.” She sounds desperate, clawing at his hands that still hold her hostage.

He slams her back, not hard, but enough to make her teeth chatter. “If you would just fucking _ listen _,”

“Billy,” She says harshly, moving to grip and tug at his shoulders. 

He's an immovable force. 

“Don't be your dad, Billy.” 

Until he isn't.

He pulls back like he's been burned again, air coming too fast to his lungs. He looks at her with bright eyes and a pounding heart and thinks he's going to be sick.

“Get the fuck away from me,” He sounds weak even to his own ears and before he can get a good look at her face he's locking himself in his room.

Billy stands there for a while, trying to catch his breath.

_ Don't be your dad, Billy. _Over and over again, it plays through his head, until he's for real crying, full on heavy sobs wracking his chest and he just stares down at the burn on his arm.

\----

They don't speak in the morning but Billy catches Max looking at the bandage across his wrist and bruises around his throat.

\----

And there must be something visceral about the image of a slightly battered Billy Hargrove gritting out through clenched teeth that he apologized to a thirteen year old because Steve is just staring at him. White mist puffs out of his open mouth and Billy almost snaps at him to shut it.

“Really?” Steve's voice is so soft it grates on Billy's nerves.

“Yes, okay, am I forgiven?” He doesn't know why he cares, why after last night all he can think about is being good enough to earn Steve Harrington’s forgiveness. 

Steve hums, looks away towards the middle school. “Close, but no cigar.”

Billy huffs, lighting up a cigarette as if to prove him wrong. He doesn't know what to say, what he's hoping to get out of this, so he just stands out in the cold against his car, looking anywhere but at Steve mirroring him.

“You wanna--” Billy blows smoke instead of continuing. Only when he sees Steve turn to him out of the corner of his eye does he continue. “I don't know, talk, somewhere. I feel like, we have a lot of that, to do.” He realises he's maybe not making much sense and Steve's silence makes his ears heat up in anger.

“Forget it,” He tosses his cigarette aside, not looking at the other as he goes to lumber back into the heat of the Camaro.

“I know this really good diner, uh, just outside of town.”

Billy pauses with his frozen fingers on the door handle. “Outside of town?”

That makes Steve smile humorlessly. “Yeah, best coffee for miles.”

Billy can smirk. He can do that. “Alright, Harrington,”

Steve does that little laugh, looking off to the side. Billy feels his face fall into something more docile. 

Until the rugrats are bounding over to their respective cars, the little Wheeler and littlest Byers parting to where Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler sit huddled together in the boy's car. Steve waves to the pair when they wave to him.

For the first time Billy finds himself wondering about them.

He catches Lucas’ eye as he gets into the back seat of Steve’s Beemer, stares at him hard.

“_ Billy _!” And Jesus does Max ever get tired of saying his name like that.

“What?”

She makes an exasperated face. “Let's go?” She motions for him to unlock her door.

Steve pipes up over the boys circling the Beemer like the termites they are. “Little Luna’s, at eight?” 

Billy doesn't know where that is but he finds himself nodding anyways. “Anything for you, pretty boy.” He flashes Steve's annoyed frown a cheeky grin before unlocking the car and piling in next to Max.

\----

Max is quiet when she speaks up as Billy parks in the driveway. “What was Steve talking about?”

He sighs through his nose. “Nothin’.” He doesn't have the energy to snap at her, tell her to mind her own business. 

She's out of the car as quickly as she had slipped in.

\----

“Take me to the arcade,” Max is standing in his doorway, hands on her hips.

Billy stares at her for a long moment before realising it's pointless. There's no way he would be able to get out of it.

“Come on,” He breathes, mouth thinning as he sets down the Walkman he's been trying to fix.

He ignores the way Neil watches him on the way out.

\----

He pulls up ready to pull away, find a way to Luna's to meet Harrington.

His stomach jerks when he sees the Beemer parked out front. He can see Harrington’s big hair in the window and he figures he's found his ride.

When Billy turns off the car completely and swings his door open Max gives him a dirty look.

“What are you doing?”

Billy ignores her, lights up a cigarette, leans up against Steve's car.

“Billy,” Max is still glaring.

“Go inside, Maxine,” He huffs smoke in her direction, earning him another glare.

She's still mad at him. He doesn't blame her.

Max finally listens when Steve comes out, ruffling her hair in passing even as his eyes find Billy.

“Hey,” Steve halts a good few feet away. “I thought we were gonna meet at the diner?”

He looks nervous, and Billy understands why when he takes one long glance back to the arcade. All of the kids are stood at the window, watching. The way they duck for cover reminds him too much of that night.

Billy is already smiling when Steve turns around, mocking. “Well, pretty boy, I’m afraid I don’t know the way.” He takes one last drag before throwing it to the side on the asphalt.

“Right, well,” Steve gestures to his car, twisting his keys up in his hand as he goes around to the drivers side. “We can take my car.”

He says it like he expects Billy to object; instead he waits for Steve to unlock the door and slides into the passenger side. He’s wary, hates letting someone else do the driving, but enjoys the apprehension in Steve’s glances he’s clearly trying hard not to make.

The Beemer is much quieter than Billy’s Camaro and the seats don’t wobble when Steve pulls out and picks up speed.

Billy stares out of the window, ignoring the thick silence, and thinks about that night.

He had waited until Harrington pulled up to the Byers’, children unloading the car they had been packed in like sardines. Nobody spoke a word but Billy had been satisfied, despite his heavy limbs and foggy brain, that they parted as he stormed to the drivers side. Harrington took his sweet time relinquishing the driver's seat, glaring defiantly through two swollen, black eyes. He was a sight and a half. It had almost been hard to look at, had Billy's anger not been sucking all of the air out of his lungs still. Without a word, Max, covered from head to toe in dirt and leaves, had clambered into the passenger's side. 

She made up some story to Neil and Susan about getting lost with her friends, Billy had gone along with it out of pure exhaustion, and his father had shown him what would become of him if it ever happened again. Neil was gone for the weekend after that.

When they pull onto the highway, Steve mumbles to his passenger, “So,”

Billy turns to him quick enough to see the way he’s nervously swallowing and flexing his hands on the steering wheel.

All previous thoughts are out the window as a grin stretches across his face. He angles his body towards the older boy, spreading his legs and propping one arm on the door as he grips the headrest of Steve’s seat. He doesn't respond for a long minute.

“So,” Billy repeats.

“So,” Steve breathes out again, finally looking at Billy as they pull off of the highway and stop at a red light.

“_ So _,” Billy’s still smiling slightly, but one eyebrow goes up.

Steve gives one of those not-laughs of his, arms falling from the wheel, hands loosely holding the bottom as he drives. He’s trying to appear casual, obviously, and is doing a poor job of it.

Before he can say anything else Billy is turning on the radio. He wants to linger on Cyndi Lauper but, for his reputation’s sake, keeps flipping through until finding The Scorpions and cranking it up to deafening volume.

Steve allows it for only a few seconds before scowling and turning the knob nearly all the way left. “The stereo, man, the stereo,”

And Billy laughs, because it’s fucking weird that he's here, being told to be careful with Steve Harrington's speakers. Altogether unsurprising as of late, though.

Neither of them try to talk through the rest of _ Still Loving You _ , _ We’re Not Gonna Take It _ , _ I Want to Break Free, _ and _ The Reflex _ . There’s only Billy’s jumpy leg and Steve’s off-beat tapping, until they’re pulling into a largely empty parking lot in front of a lonely neon _ ‘Little Luna’s _’ sign. Billy stares at the way the cursive letters curl around a flickering moon.

Again, neither speak as they get out and amble up to the diner’s door. Billy takes long strides that Steve has trouble keeping up with, despite having legs longer than Billy’s own.

“Bathroom,” Billy says as soon as they’re inside. His chest is swelling.

This was a bad idea, he thinks. He's a fucking asshole and he doesn't know what he's doing or what he's going to say or why anyone would even listen to him. All he can think about is his father.

Billy takes his time; he washes his hands, dries them, stands and stares at his reflection. When his chest isn’t so tight he fixes his clothes and hair and takes a deep breath.

Steve is still there, sat at a booth, back to the door. There's nobody else and Billy doesn't need to wonder why Steve thinks it's so great. He doesn't wait for someone to ask him to take a seat, simply sidles up to Steve's table and slumps down across from him.

The other boy startles hard, spilling some of his coffee onto the table top. 

“Shit!” He glares at Billy for only a second before going to soaking up the spilt drink.

“Damn, you sure are jumpy, Harrington.” 

Steve's eyes going a little distant where they stare at the sopping napkin. For almost too long, before he's shaking his head, clearing it of something. “Warn a guy next time,” Is all he says.

They’re interrupted momentarily by an older woman coming over to ask for their orders, Billy doesn't look away from Steve when he orders a simple coffee, nothing else.

When she's gone Billy lowers his eyelids a bit, lazy smile blooming. “So, what do I gotta do to get a guy to _ forgive _me?” Because he feels like he's said that word more in the last week than ever in his life.

Steve snorts, looking at him blandly. “Try not being an asshole.”

When the waitress brings the coffee, refilling Steve's, Billy flashes her a charming smile.

He turns back to Steve. “I am being perfectly pleasant.” Billy slumps further in the booth, legs splaying so far their knees knock.

“For once,” Steve kicks his shin, not gently.

Billy sobers up a bit, smile dropping and eyes falling to the bandaged arm resting on the table.

“I think I was jealous,” He feels his throat start closing and nose burn at the omission.

Steve blinks. “What?”

The other boy sighs roughly. “All I heard about you when I first moved here, ‘King Steve’ this, ‘King Steve’ that, I just thought you were some spoiled brat.”

Steve chews his cheek for a second, sighs, and looks out the window to the ever darkening sky. “I guess you weren't wrong, I was.”

Billy sits up a bit. “What changed?”

Steve grins tiredly. “What didn't?” And Billy's not sure he's supposed to answer, that it's even directed at him.

The older boy looks to him suddenly, smile gone. “Why are you doing this?”

Billy's face contorts, “What?”

“Why are you apologizing? Talking to me?”

Billy tries not to get angry at that. He doesn't know why apologizing has to be this hard, he thought he would give a simple “I‘m sorry” and be on his way. Instead it's turned into a _ production _. 

His face pinches, unable to look away from the puffy, pink skin of a healing gash on Steve's temple. “Why can't I just be sorry?”

“Because,” Steve leans forward on his elbows. “You've been nothing but a pain in the ass since you got here, you treat Max and Lucas like shit--”

Billy slams a hand down to stop him, pointing a finger probably far too close to Harrington’s face. “Shut the fuck up, why can't I just apologize, why can't you just fucking accept that?”

Steve bats his hand away, rolling his eyes in that controlled-anger kind of way. Billy wishes he had his composure. Billy wishes Steve would snap again. “There's no reason to treat kids like shit, asshole.”

“Fuck that, you don't know _ shit _, Harrington.”

“I know I used to be a dick, a real fuckin’ tool, and all it took was, I don't know, a good influence or, whatever.”

Billy's face stills before turning into an ugly smile. “Oh, and, what? You want to be that _ good influence _?” He mocks.

Steve shrugs, like it's that easy. “Sure, if you want to stop being such an asshole all the time, I believe in second chances.”

Billy ignores the sting in the back of his throat, the way _ worthless _ bounces around his head.

He's never deserved a second chance before. He feels stupid for caring so much and he sniffs angrily, looking out of the window like Steve had earlier. There's not much to look at. A few cars, a few street lamps, though he can maybe make out something in the sky--

“Hargrove,” Steve's voice brings him back. “I don't know you, I don't know the first thing about whatever shit you've got goin’ on, but,” He shrugs again. “Maybe I want to.”

Billy narrows his eyes, leaning back and sniffs again, a little more haughty this time. “What makes you so sure I wanna get to know you?” Disregarding the fact that he does not want Steve to know him, at all. 

Steve grins. “That look.”

Billy frowns severely. “What _ look _?”

“The one lookin’ for danger.”

Billy smirks. “Oh, and you're dangerous, Harrington?” He doesn't bring up their fight; he can't stop looking at the scar.

“You've got no idea.” He says it slow and low, eyes mischievous and smiles real sweet. He nudges their legs together again.

For something to do other than stare at Steve Harrington’s pretty, bruised face Billy picks up his previously untouched coffee, taking a large gulp. It's lukewarm and maybe too strong for him but he appreciates the kick it gives his brain.

“I think we've covered the basics,” Billy looks in his eyes darkly. “You think of me as some charity case, and you think yourself dangerous, all around some pretty grand delusions.”

It feels like a fight with them even when they're not really, always one jab for the next.

“You being sorry isn't a delusion?”

“Nah,” He raises a shoulder, smile small but almost reaching his eyes. Steve just looks at him for a minute.

And then ruins it. “What happened to your neck?”

Billy clenches his teeth together tight, sucking the top row. They aren't that visible; he hadn't thought to cover them. “Ya see, that's where you mind your own fuckin’ business.”

Steve's eyes darken. “Did you attack someone?”

Billy laughs sharply, closing in on hysterical. “You would love that wouldn't you?” He leers at him, moving closer over the table top. “Or would you be jealous? You not bein’ the only one my hands are on?”

Steve scowls. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He moves his knee away from Billy's.

“Just tryna get a read on you, pretty boy,” He's maybe being a little too loud now, and a little too showy with his arms spread wide. They fall back onto the table with a loud _ thunk _ , finally drawing the attention from the workers. He ignores them and goes on. “One minute you're ready to try and _ save me _ the next you're ready to condemn me for a made up crime.” Billy's not smiling anymore and Steve is breathing a little roughly, eyes darting around the younger man's face.

“You're right,” Steve deflates. “I'm sorry, you're right.” He flips his hand in a gesture that says _ ‘you've won this one’. _

Billy's nostrils flare as the storm in his throat retreats. “Takes a big man to admit when he's wrong.” He's still got an edge to his voice. 

Steve must catch it because he sighs. “I'm going to need you to work with me here, not everything has to be a fight, Hargrove.”

Billy scoffs. “It's all fucking and fighting, no in between.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “That so,” He says dryly.

It makes Billy second guess himself, though for what he's not sure, but his lips seal shut anyways. He takes another gulp of the too-strong-coffee and wishes it were liquor. He's just glad Steve drops it.

“Listen,” Steve takes his bottom lip into his open mouth, obviously trying to contain his annoyance. “We're in each other's lives whether we like it or not.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, challenging. “How's that?”

“Because Max is dating Lucas and Lucas is Dustin’s best friend and Dustin is my little shit.” He says the end harshly but Billy would know that fond smile anywhere, stared at it enough times.

Billy grinds his teeth, letting a nasty grin split his face. “Alright, Harrington, I'll play along.” Like Steve's the one that needs a second chance, like Billy's not the one who needs to repent for being a major ass wipe.

Steve makes a humming noise, sipping his own drink. With a satisfied sigh he leans back fully. “Listen, I've gotta go get the kids from the arcade,” He's getting out of his seat by the time Billy thinks to grab for his wallet. Steve beats him to it, throwing down enough to cover them both.

Billy only follows because Steve motions for the door, both of them stepping out into the cold night.

The ride to the arcade is much the same as the drive away from it. Arguing over the volume, settling in tense silence while Billy fights against the urge to stink up the slick BMW’s interior with a cig.

When they get back they both step out.

Steve shivers, stuffing his hand in the pockets of the light jacket he has on. “God, I never used to hate the cold but what I wouldn't give for somewhere like California.”

Billy's stomach clenches at the reminder. “Never even have to worry about a stiff breeze.”

The older boy laughs quietly, moving to lean on his door, enough so he can look at Billy.

As soon as their eyes meet the rugrats are bounding out in a flurry of motions and varying degrees of distress.

Billy’s distracted by Steve getting distracted, the other standing up straight and watching as the curly haired one leans in close to the younger Wheeler. Max separates from the group and stands by the Camaro with a distrustful frown directed towards the teens.

“Well,” Billy lets a smirk flit over his face. “See ya ‘round, King Steve.”

As he turns to his car he hears a muffled, “Don't call me that!”

\----

Billy feels weird for the rest of the evening. Something keeps twisting up his stomach, replaying their conversation over and over again.

When he sleeps it's restless and filled with Steve, Max, his father; all of their faces blend together. There's shouting, the purr of the Camaro, all boiling down to the moment Billy wakes up to a blaring alarm and dark morning sky.

\----

The dream leaves Billy feeling off-kilter and confused. He full on skips the latter half of the school day because it's Friday and he thinks he needs to take a long drive to the outskirts of town. He tosses around the idea of going to Luna’s but it only reminds him of Harrington. His music blares and the heat blasts and by the time it's time to turn around he's almost in a good mood.

He’s gone so far that he ends up late picking Max up from school. She's huddling into Steve, nervous look on her face until the Camaro pulls in next to them.

She opens the passenger door hard, cold air sweeping his breath away.

“Where the hell were you?” She closes it with a slam just as Steve starts saying something. Billy sees him purse his lips together, hand that had been extended pulling into a fist. 

“I lost track of time, Jesus,” He gives Steve a tilt of his head by way of thanks, pulling into gear.

“Steve was worried, he said you weren't there.”

Billy's eyebrows furrow. “I skipped,” He shoots her a look before maintaining eye contact with the yellow lines. “Why the fuck was he worried?”

He sees Max shrug. “Said something about you getting into fights.”

Whatever good mood that had settled in Billy's stomach quickly sours, panic swirling in his gut. He scowls harshly. “Did you tell him to mind his own fucking business?” 

Max doesn't even blink as his voice raises in volume. “Something like that,”

“Max,” It's low and he tries to hear her over the rushing in his ears. He's kept this under wraps, under _ control _ for so long, it's bad enough Lucas Sinclair knowing, he doesn't need Honorable Harrington sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. “What did you say?”

“Nothing! Just that you're not getting into any trouble.” 

Billy snorts meanly. “Yeah and I'm sure the shit just accepted that at face value.”

Her voice goes shrill. “Wha--Billy I'm not gonna_ tell _him anything!”

“What about Lucas, huh? What if he runs his mouth?”

Max’s teeth click shut. “He won't,” She says calmly.

“He'd better not,”

\----

It's shame. Shame that has kept Billy quiet about the things his father does, says. Shame and embarrassment at needing help, not being able to handle a little bit of pain. Because he can. He has proved time and time again, hospital trip after hospital trip, that he can handle any amount of pain.

That shame looms darkly overhead for the rest of the week as he avoids Steve.

It's not so hard when he really tries. The only class they have together is gym and he plays fair and far away, the same for practice, he doesn't stay long in the showers, eats lunch at his car and doesn't lollygag getting Max. All around it works for him, though Max makes a few off handed comments.

Today's is: “Steve asked about the burn on your wrist.”

Billy has to dig his fingers into the steering wheel to stop the anger from bursting out of his fists. “Did you tell him to _ fuck off _?”

Max rolls her eyes. “Yeah, like a million times, he's persistent.” The annoyance in her voice helps Billy draw back, calm down.

He takes a breath, mumbling, “When he puts his mind to somethin’.”

“What do you mean?” Max dares ask.

“Don't worry about it, twerp.” But it's not as harsh as it might have been not weeks ago and he might even be on the edge of teasing, despite the severe line between his eyebrows.

She huffs, slumping further into her seat. Twirling the wheels of her skateboard, she looks out of the window to say, “I think Steve likes you.”

A lump forms in Billy's throat and he frowns harder to get rid of it. 

She mumbles before he can. “Not that you deserve it, especially not from Steve.”

Despite knowing she's right, he gets mad. Furious. At himself, his dad, his life. He wishes he were better.

“Yeah, Max,” He shouts, hands both leaving the steering wheel for a second too long. “Don't I fucking know it.”

\----

When he gets home, he slams around the kitchen for a bit, making himself an angry PB&J. He takes it to his room and blasts the mix tape from a thousand miles away. He eats his rage and by the time the tape has gotten to an old Donna Summers song Billy is spent.

He changes into a t-shirt; though it's only a few years old there are several holes around the collar and one above his navel from an incident with Neil. Billy lays back, knees bent over the edge of his bed, listening distantly to a song his mother used to sing to him. He's so tired of being. He wants to sleep until his father isn't around and he's not so angry about everything.

He must crash because the next thing he's aware of is a loud knock on his bedroom door.

“Billy,”

He knew all of those weeks of his father being absent were bound to come to a violent end.

Neil doesn't even wait for Billy to open the door, and the younger man has barely lifted himself up before his father is stalking in.

“If you're going to eat in this house you must put things back where they belong.”

“What are you talking about?” Billy barely opens his eyes to ask it, so tired.

“Look at me when I'm speaking to you, boy.” And Neil always had a way of being in one place one second and completely dominating your space the next. He grips Billy's face roughly, making his head tip back.

Billy goes limp, staring straight through his father. He'll take whatever he gives. He deserves it.

When Billy doesn't indicate responding Neil takes the situation into his own hands. The first hit makes Billy's neck snap sideways, eyes blinking wide and mouth gaping. The second makes Billy grunt, protecting his face on instinct. 

Neil seizes Billy’s burnt wrist, holding tight to tear it away from its defensive pose.

“_ Look at me when I speak to you!” _

The third hit splits his lip on his father’s wedding band. Billy grinds his teeth and bites his tongue to keep from crying out in pain.

When there doesn't seem to be a fourth coming his way, Billy lifts his eyes to his father's towering figure.

“You're a worthless piece of shit, Billy, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.” Neil tightens his fists and sighs heavily through his nose. When he's gone Billy lets out a pathetic whimper. He tightens his fists and beats them against his thigh a few times before throwing himself out of bed.

He doesn't even grab a jacket, just finds his keys and wallet and is out the door. Max is in the kitchen, head bent. It shoots up when Billy storms through and she chases after him.

“Billy!” She whisper-yells all the way across the lawn, catching up with him easily. “Billy, stop!”

Billy sniffles and gasps as a sob chokes him. “What, Max?” He's moving to the drivers side, avoiding her eyes.

“Where are you going?” He thinks she sounds angry.

“I don't know.” He can barely make his throat work and it hurts to move his face to talk and he's really just standing by his car now.

“Well, let's go, wherever it is.”

She sounds so determined he gets into gear, opening up his door and unlocking hers. She slips in quickly, buckling up and leaning against the window.

Billy wants to kick her out, tell her to _ fuck off _, but instead guns it as soon as the car is on. He doesn't know where they're going, they just need to go.

“Billy,” Max’s voice is so gentle he sniffles again. “You're shaking,” She sounds unsure, like she doesn't know if it's from the cold or adrenaline.

“Fuck,” He mutters. He's fucking freezing. Blasting the heat doesn't start to work until they're already ten minutes on the road and Billy's teeth are chattering. Max looks like she wants to offer her much too small jacket.

“Where are we going?” She asks again.

Billy doesn't think before replying. “Luna’s,”

“Luna’s?” 

Billy sighs wetly. “It's this diner Harrington showed me.”

Max gets this look on her face, like suddenly things are making sense. “Did you apologize to him?”

Billy's throat stings. “Yeah,”

“Good,”

And that makes Billy sneer, the effect ruined when he winces against the cut over his lip and cheek. “I didn't do it for you, shithead,”

Max shrugs, hair shaking like leaves in fall. “Get over it.”

Billy squeezes the steering wheel for a moment, neck closing up and eyes welling with tears.

He's not thinking, not comprehending the words falling out of his mouth. “I'm tired, Max,”

And maybe it's because of how broken he sounds, so fucking _ pathetic _, that Max braves through it when he starts to cry. He can't remember the last time he cried in front of anyone and he can't seem to stop.

“I want to stop being angry all the time,” He takes a turn a little too sharply, foot becoming a heavy weight on the pedal. 

_ I want to be good enough. _

Only when Max holds onto his bare arm does he slow down. She's gripping it hard, but in her tiny hands it feels kind. His mind is too clouded to shake her off.

He's breathing hard and his face is swelling and throbbing and _ bleeding _all over his t-shirt.

When he finally comes down a bit, he drops the arm Max is holding from the wheel. “I don't want to be him.”

He sees Max nod once, sure and confident. “Then don't be,”

“I don't know how,” He's distressed and his throat croaks around inhibited sobs.

She doesn't offer anything up, and they don't talk for the rest of the ride.

Max doesn't let go of his arm.

\----

When they pull into the diner’s parking lot, Billy has the frame of mind to check the time. It's just past one a.m.

“Why are you even awake?”

Max waves away cigarette smoke with a grimace. “Neil was yelling, it woke me up.”

Billy puts the Camaro into park, and feels like he needs to say something, but Max beats him to it.

She sounds inappropriately excited. “Is that Steve's car?”

Billy frowns, looking where Max points. 

“That's Steve's hair!” And then she's off, bounding towards the bright neon glow.

_ Shit _.

It sure is a small fucking town.

Billy steps out of his car, leaning against the hood to finish his cigarette.

He watches as Max enters the diner. She says something, Billy assumes Steve's name.

When Steve jumps at Max’s hand on his shoulder he knows he hadn't heard. 

Billy thinks he should stop sitting with his back to the door.

Steve is turned away but he can see his step-sister's face go serious, an odd look of understanding. She says something else at length and by the time she's sitting across from the older boy Billy has finished his cigarette and is stepping through the creaky door.

He counts heads when he enters; only one other older lady and she appears to be dozing.

He goes unnoticed until Max glances over Steve's shoulder, hushed conversation silencing completely. When Steve turns around Billy is nearly to the table and when he gets to the edge, Steve's eyes still on him, he just stands there.

He's suddenly very aware of the state of his appearance: hair flattened and sticking out unevenly, swollen cheek, torn skin. He's stopped bleeding at least, though blood has dripped down his chin and onto the t-shirt he wears.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes. His eyes are intense as they scan over the damage and Billy can't find it in him to sit down. “What the fuck happened?”

Billy's hands clench into fists for only a second before he deflates with an angry huff. “Noth--”

“Bullshit,” He says it fiercely, leaving no room for argument.

Billy knows his bloodshot eyes flare up with that bone deep rage but doesn't have the energy to act on it. He just sits down next to Max, nudging her with his hip lightly.

“Get up,”

Billy frowns angrily. “What?” He looks to Max but she has an expression that he could compare to when Susan has demanded her of something.

“Come on, bathroom,” Steve shoves his coffee mug away maybe a little too aggressively and stands to show Billy the way.

He doesn't move until Max is shoving at his shoulder, whispering furiously about getting blood everywhere.

He follows Steve slowly, hating the way his stomach curls in furious embarrassment. There is nothing that could make this night worse.

His eyes immediately go to his own reflection, the damage isn't as bad as previously assumed. His hair really is a disaster and his face really is swollen but at least there isn't really blood _ everywhere _. It all hurts.

“Sit,” Steve points to the counter, going over to the napkin dispenser and taking a liberal amount. 

Despite a snappish remark on the tip of his tongue he bites it down and does as he's told, neck heating up. Steve wets a stack and moves in close.

“I can clean this shit myself,”

“You not gonna tell me who you've been getting into fights with?” Steve ignores his comment.

Billy doesn't miss the way Steve's eyes flicker down to his scarred knuckles, though.

“Fuck off, why do you care?” He says with a little heat, eyes trained on the tiled floor. Billy is mortified when the flush moves from his neck to cheeks as Steve begins wiping blood off of his chin. His hands are gentle and soft where nimble fingers grip the least harmed side of Billy's face.

Steve snorts, napkins focused on the cut across Billy's left cheek. “Funny, that's what Max said.”

Billy nearly cracks a smile at that. “Brat,”

They fall into a thick silence after that. Steve does a thorough job, Billy thinks. He scrubs over the same spots at least ten times before moving onto another. Billy panics when he starts to feel tears pricking the corner of his eyes again.

“Simon & Garfunkel?” Billy's eyes snap up and he blinks a few times to focus on Steve's very close face.

Steve raises an eyebrow, motioning to Billy's shirt.

Billy frowns, face released from Steve's gentle hold when he looks down at the garish purple and orange.

“It's a sleep shirt,” He says by way of explanation.

He looks back up to Steve and is startled by a genuine smile. “You've been to New York?”

Billy shrugs, frowns. “Only the once,” He admits. “Are we done here?”

“My parents go there for business trips a lot,” Steve says, ignoring Billy again.

“Interesting,” The sarcasm is heavy and he pushes Steve out of his space. He slides down and whirls around, hands dropping heavy on the counter as he stares at his reflection. He definitely still looks messy but at least it's not _ as _messy.

His vision goes blurry the longer he stares at the dark bruises already forming.

“_ Hey _!” Fingers snap in front of his face and he sneers. “Let's get back before Max decides to order one of everything.”

Billy thinks Steve looks like he wants to grab him, physically pull him out, and has to refrain. He's grateful for it.

Billy leads the way this time, shoulders up to his ears with discomfort as he realises what he allowed Steve to do. To touch him; to touch him in a way that didn't end in a fuck or a fight. He wants to crawl out of his own skin but instead dredges up any confidence he may still have.

His smirk is tense when he throws it at Max as he sits down, having to nudge her again. He sprawls in the booth like last time, keeping the smile in place when Steve sits back across from them.

Their knees knock again, and Steve does not move away.

Objectively, now that Billy can focus on not being scrutinized, he watches Steve. He just _ looks _ because that's what the other boy had done and now he sees how tired Steve appears. There are dark circles under his eyes that are no longer the bruises Billy put there, his glare a little glossy.

“Having trouble sleeping, pretty boy?”

Steve makes an exasperated face. “‘Cus that's the most pressing matter right now,”

“Steve,” Max warns, tone oddly stern.

Billy looks between them, eyebrow raised in mild fascination. He doesn't know if he should find it funny or creepy that they seem to be able to communicate without words.

Finally, Steve sighs and looks down into his coffee. After a long beat has passed Steve is calling out for ‘Danny'. A young man comes to the table within seconds setting Steve with a warm smile. He spares a kind glance to Max and Billy.

“What's up, Steve?”

“Can I get a refill, and one for Billy here,” He nudges Billy with his foot, even though logically ‘Danny' can't see it. Billy barely raises an eyebrow. He's too focused on how this guy knows Steve by name. “Anything you want, Max?”

“Uh,” She thinks for a second. “Waffles.”

Billy scowls, turning to her. “You'll get sick if you eat so late.”

She rolls her eyes. “I'll be fine, Billy,”

“If you throw up in my car it's your funeral,” Billy snorts rudely when she sticks her tongue at him. He doesn't know when her attitude turned less irritating and more endearing but that fact in itself annoys him.

“No food,” Billy reiterates.

“You're not my mom,” 

Billy misses the way Danny glances between the trio unsurely, stepping back as if to leave.

“She'll get waffles,” Billy hears Steve saying and turns a betrayed look to him. Danny quickly leaves.

“Harrington--”

“I'm, like, their babysitter, I have authority.”

And that makes sense. The looks, the Mom-Voice, the general fussy nature.

Billy's smile is big and wide and doesn't reach his eyes. “That what you are to them?”

“Don't be gross, Billy,” Max snarls as if she knows he's going to say something nasty.

“Was just a question, _ Maxine _.” He says it because he finds it amusing the way her ears turn red in irritation.

Max resolutely ignores him after that, asking Steve instead about some campaign. Jesus, what the fuck does he do with these kids? He decides one of these days he really has to get to the bottom of that.

He happily tunes them out, instead looking over Max’s head to the world outside. Just as he's starting to make out something in the sky again his coffee is delivered and despite it being far too strong for his liking he takes a scalding gulp. He hisses at the darkness, eyes going fuzzy as he drinks in the pain.

He feels odd, in a way that never really goes away but shows its ugly head every now and again, stuck in a vicious cycle. Completely upside down and inside out and like a part of him has up and left. He feels a heavy frown settle as his train of thought runs. It's like when you zone out and are aware that you're zoned out but you're too lazy to zone back in. He knows he shouldn't let every conversation, every one of his or anyone else's actions, every _ mistake _he's made flash like old film reels but it all comes back and he's overwhelmed.

He doesn't deserve Steve's kindness nor Lucas’ forgiveness nor even Max’s amiability.

He thinks if she weren't here maybe he would be broken enough to tell Steve this. Make Steve tell him he's right, believe that he's right.

Instead he ignores how numb he feels and resurfaces into the conversation, turning to the man in front of him; he's already looking back.

“Finish up those waffles,” Billy mumbles to Max. “I’ll take you home.” He looks down and sideways to her.

“You're not coming home?” She sounds like she's trying very hard not to sound concerned.

Billy shrugs a shoulder. “Don't worry ‘bout me, kid.”

Steve looks like he's trying _ very _hard not to ask questions.

As soon as Max has finished her last bite Billy is up and out the door. He figures Steve won't mind paying again, what with the guy being loaded or whatever.

He wants to wrap himself up against the cold but feels small enough, doesn't need to make himself seem smaller.

When the others step out into the frigid night Steve says, “Go ahead and wait in the car, Max.” Billy tosses her the keys with a warning glare but she only leaves after Steve's ruffled her hair and given her that fond little smile he reserves just for his kids, like he thinks they’re shithead brats but can’t help but care about them.

The boys watch her walk away, watch her furtive back glances, watch her get safely inside.

“Where will you stay tonight?” As if he cares. And maybe he does, Billy thinks delusionally. He figures, though, that this absolutely ridiculous person can care about just about anything; Billy isn’t special.

Billy shrugs again. His fingers twitch and he chews the inside of his lip, desperately needing a cigarette.

“I work tomorrow.” He doesn't know why he says it but nobody knows he has a job and suddenly he wants someone to.

“You work?”

Billy gives him a dull look. “My car needs to get fueled up somehow, Harrington.”

“Right,” Steve looks over to the Camaro and presumably to where Max sits. He turns back with a tight smile. “Right,” He repeats.

Billy waits for more but when he just looks down at the gravel, face shrouded by his misty breath, Billy starts walking away.

“You can stay at mine, my parents are never home anyways,”

Billy stops hard, nearly slipping on loose gravel. “That a proposition?” He turns enough to look at Steve, sleazy grin plastered up.

Unsurprisingly Steve doesn't seem phased and just shakes his head. “I mean it, there's a spare bedroom, or a couch.”

Billy turns all the way around, staring stonily. “I'm not a fucking charity case.”

Steve gets a smile on his face that doesn't reach his eyes. “I leave that bullshit up to my parents.”

He sighs harshly through his nose. The fact that he even considers it shows how low he has stooped, but he's starting to shiver and really this weather is not conducive to sleeping in a car. Still. “No thanks Harrington, I wouldn't dare soil your castle.”

“Come on, man, when are you gonna stop being so fucking difficult and just let someone help you!”

He's hot with rage, moving into Steve's space, gripping his jacket roughly.

“I don't fucking _ need _ help, _ asshole _ , what the _ fuck _is your damage?” Billy's shouting and he's so close to punching Steve again. He's not helpless, he doesn't need a goddamn thing from anybody else.

“_ Hargrove _!” Steve's shouting too, face stormy but ever the fucking calm.

It makes Billy shove him away. “I don't know what you think you're trying to do, but unless you want a repeat from the Byers’ I would back the fuck _ off _.” He punctuates this by giving Steve's chest one last push.

He doesn't stick around to see how long Steve can keep that controlled fury, instead storming off to his car.

He suddenly feels the cold again.

\----

“You were doing better,”

“Thanks, Max, because your disapproval is all I live to abide by,” He's being harsh, voice in that obnoxious, defensive mode. He sees the signs, can't stop them. He's going to do something stupid. Surprised he hasn't yet.

Luckily, for Max, she seems to notice that too, because she stays silent for the rest of the ride home. Billy thinks he hears her sniffle when he drops her off.

\----

It's when he's driving at three a.m. that he realises a few things.

One: He really doesn't have any friends, _ real _friends, that would let him crash at their place for the night.

Two: He should have drank all of that diner coffee.

Three: He really should have taken Harrington up on his offer.

His eyes start to get heavy and nicotine no longer helps.

_ Fuck _.

It's then that he knows he's going to break.

\----

Steve's hair is sticking up and his eyes are wide when they had just been plastered shut and he's only wearing boxers and a t-shirt.

In any other case Billy would leer, make a sleaze ball comment, but right now he's just driven around for over an hour looking for Steve's lame Beemer and is truly doing his best to not look too embarrassed.

“Billy,” He sounds surprised and a little displeased.

“That offer still stand?”

“You gonna stop being a dick?”

“Don't bet on it,” He bites out. Shit, maybe he should try a little harder; it's fucking freezing.

Steve sighs and just when Billy thinks he's going to slam the door in his face he rolls his eyes, his whole head, and moves for Billy to slither in. 

Inside is at least fourty degrees warmer than outside and his arms prickle at the stark contrast. He shivers a bit as he takes in the house.

He had thought it was large on the outside but damn, it's complete with a large staircase and everything. The decor is bland but sophisticated.

Billy likes how he looks in comparison.

To ease the tension he turns around with a smirk. “Where are you putting me?”

Steve sighs again, rubbing his forehead. He motions for Billy to follow and they enter a den area. “You can have the couch, just--” He gestures flippantly. “Don't bleed on it.”

Billy chuckles. “Of course not, princess.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, frowning when Billy flops lecherously onto the soft cushions, shirt riding up indecently.

Billy smiles, all sharp and ugly, mottled and bruised. It's been known to make middle-aged women swoon. “Gonna join me?”

Steve shakes his head a little. “Goodnight,” And then he's gone.

Billy stares after him, smile dropping. Leaning all the way until he's laying down is a relief. He moans loudly at the comfortable plushness and smooth exterior.

“And don't jerk off!” He hears Steve yell down.

Billy laughs at that, a full burst he doesn't have the energy to alter.

“No promises,” He calls back, real smile reverberating through the threat.

He closes his eyes and situates his body so one leg is bent under the other knee and one arm under his head. He lets out a deep breath, feeling sleep take him down.

\----

Only when his internal clock blares does he wake up. It takes him a hot minute to realise the sweet smell permeating all around him is pancakes, or maybe waffles, being cooked in the kitchen.

He moves away from the back of the couch where all of his body has nudged itself, leaning so far he nearly falls off the edge.

He must notify Steve of his wakefulness with the groan that rips out of him as he stretches.

“Hey,” Steve's voice is distant. “I--uh--made food, if you want some.”

Billy sits up in one dramatic gesture, his hair moving like a single tangled entity.

“There's never a time I'd turn down food, Harrington.” He yawns the boy's name, eyes squeezing shut.

When he opens them there's a plate in front of his face. Two pancakes and a strip of bacon sit atop.

“What time is it?” Billy asks as he takes the food, not looking at the older boy.

“Uh, sometime after seven I think.”

“Shit,” He mumbles around a forkful, swinging his legs off the side of the couch. He doesn't remember the last time he ate, but it must have been a while if his stomach is anything to go by.

“You can--uh--” Steve stutters again, sounding supremely unsure of himself. It would amuse Billy if he wasn't worried about getting to work on time. “Use the shower if you want.”

Billy takes a last bite of his bacon and rotates around to see Steve standing there, twisting the edge of his shirt. He's fully dressed now, preppy polo and all.

“I'll pass, but if I could borrow a shirt that'd be rad.”

He doesn't miss the look Steve is giving him.

“What?” Billy says defensively. He knows he looks a mess; his shirt is covered in his own blood, his hair could not _ ever _have been worse, and he's positive he actually does need a shower.

“‘Rad',” Steve puts it in air-quotes, face twisting is humour. “Just don't hear surfer slang out here.”

Billy smirks a little, taking a large bite of pancake and talking around it. “Oh, I don't doubt that one bit, Harrington.”

“Do you have to?” Steve grimaces.

Billy raises his eyebrows, not swallowing still. “Do what?”

“Jesus, chew and swallow, that's disgusting.”

He does swallow, sucking his teeth clean before grinning cheekily. “I'm never disgusting.”

Steve scoffs, finally turning towards the stairs. “When aren't you?”

When Steve comes back down with a shirt Billy has finished the surprisingly delicious food and found a bathroom to piss and try to salvage his hair. He avoids looking at his face for too long.

“Here,” Steve tosses it at Billy's head where he stands by the kitchen sink.

Catching it before it falls to the floor, Billy gives Steve an empty glance. His attention is taken by the far too nice button up.

“Unless you don't mind it getting ruined, I'd give me somethin’ a little trashier.”

Steve's head is stuffed in the fridge and he pulls it out along with orange juice to give Billy an appraising look.

“Where do you work?”

“At the garage down on Beverly.” It flows perhaps a little too freely.

“Really?” Steve looks less appraising and more approving, a look Billy is far from comfortable with. “Well, that's my dad's and I don't think he'll miss it, so,” He leaves it open ended, shrugging.

Billy looks down at it again, face scrunching up at the idea of wearing Mr. Harrington's nice button down shirt. This thing has probably seen big CEO meetings and yet he's going to mask it in grease and oil. He gets some kind of satisfaction out of that.

“Juice?”

Billy shakes himself mentally, stomach coiling. “This has been real sweet and all, but I've gotta motor.” He fixes Steve with a dull smile. It doesn't reach his eyes, doesn't even reach his lips, and he's moving to the door swiftly.

“See ya round, princess,” He skips down the front steps, head hanging low. He turns halfway, face carefully neutral. “And don't tell the brat where I'm at.”

It's not until he's at his car that he hears _ “ _You're welcome, asshole!”

Billy grins sharply, winking at Steve as he swings his door open. He throws the shirt to the passenger seat and gets in with a slam. He disregards the early hour as he peels out of the drive, tires turning and squealing.

\----

“Nice shirt, Hargrove, when's the meeting?” Trent is giving him one of those looks like ‘whose husband did you steal that from?’. When he gets a good view of Billy's face, the look only intensifies.

“Right where your head's at, up your ass.” Billy gives him his most charming smile.

Trent makes a noise, ‘oohing’ his admittedly bad come-back. He's too fucking tired to try harder. Trent is older but not old, maybe mid-forties, if Billy had to guess. He only knows the man had moved to Texas from Mexico when very young and eventually worked his way further north, until settling in Hawkins. Billy still can't get an answer as to why.

Billy walks through the garage to the back room where a desk covered in paperwork, a dingy couch and rusty lockers reside. Grabbing a rag out of one of the lockers he moves to the nearest car.

He works from eight a.m to six p.m and by that time he has two jobs finished. He channels all of his anger and frustration, all of his restlessness, into it. Both cars are fucking beautiful and he's almost sad to see them go.

He's careful not to get any grease in his own, scrubbing his hands furiously before he so much as looks at the wheel.

Trent yells out to him, “_ Hasta mañana, hermano.” _

_ “Tómalo con calma,” _Billy answers back with a genuine grin.

Work is a release; it's a place for him to go for ten hours and not need to account for anyone but himself. He enjoys the freedom to just be. 

He's saving up his money.

\----

When he gets home his father and Susan are gone, and Max is evidently holed up in her room. Relief floods his system as he can get in a shower without anyone noticing. Weekends are usually when Neil and Susan go away, leaving note after note on Max’s care. 

He's not sure why she doesn't rat him out but he has a sneaking suspicion she's using this silent, tentative favour to get a grander gesture from him in the long run.

He runs the water hot, almost boiling, and scrubs himself raw. He takes a long time. Soap burns his face and runs the water red when his cuts are split back open. Dirt and blood and sweat and grime pool at the bottom of the tub until finally the water is clear and Billy feels less filthy, inside and out.

He brushes his teeth thoroughly and puts ointment on his cheek and lip. He doesn't bother doing anything with his hair yet; there's a party tonight but he thinks he'll get a nap in.

“Billy?” He's _ just _about to close his door. He tightens the towel around his waist and turns to look to his step-sister.

He waits for her to say something.

“Where did you go?”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Mind your own business, twerp.” And he slams the door.

He throws all of his dirty clothes in the corner and fishes out an older Kansas tee, a fresh pair of boxers and workout shorts. He actually contemplates working out instead of napping, before falling back onto his bed. It's nothing like flopping down on Harrington’s sofa.

He almost gets mad at himself for making that comparison. It can't be helped, though, that modern couch with those soft cushions leave him wanting more. He can't even imagine what all of their beds must feel like. And isn't that a thought.

He shuts down his brain before anything else can run through his absolute complete lack of filter. Sometimes he wishes he had self preservation. It always gets him hurt.

\----

He wakes up under covers he doesn't remember cocooning himself in. The time reads 8:34, and he remembers he has a party to show up to. He's still king of Hawkins High, after all.

\----

The party is in full swing by the time he's gotten his hair perfectly coiffed, outfit picked out, and (reluctantly) Max settled for the night at the Wheeler’s house.

He's got that mask up, the one that keeps him on top. Tommy and Carol immediately latch onto him when he steps through the door. He leers at the high school girls that bat their eyelashes at him, despite the nasty bruises covering his face. He makes the appropriate jokes and laughs when he's supposed to. He answers any and all comments about his fresh bruises and split lip with a cocky ‘you should see the other guy’.

By the time people are lining up for the keg stand Billy is well on his way to being trashed. He knows it's not a good idea to partake but people are shouting his name and egging him on and _ shit _if he doesn't love the attention.

He does it and when he's back on his feet he acts far more sober than he feels. He tenses up under the harsh pats of encouragement, against the loud yelling in his ears. All of it done with that shit eating grin.

He knows how to fake it; he knows how to trick them. He parades through the living room, Tommy and one of the boy's lackeys clinging to either side. He wants to shake them off, but instead keeps his eyes open for a bird to grab his attention.

It doesn't take long; he has the whole town at his picking. He barely has to seduce her before she's climbing into his lap, pawing at the naked chest under his leather jacket, and sucking his tongue into her mouth. She's not bad, and it does little to stop his head from spinning. 

“Wait!” She pulls back and through the swirly haze Billy can see the panic on her face. She leans back so far she nearly topples back and he has to grip her waist to keep her in place.

“Wha--”

She throws up all down her front.

He lets her fall with a curse. She looks up at him in drunken embarrassment from the floor.

When people start to laugh he moves up and away from the situation, leaving her to fend for herself.

“Jesus--fuck,” Billy stumbles out onto the front lawn, patting himself down blindly for his pack of cigarettes. “Fuckin’ cow,” He scowls when he finally finds them and lights one up with uncoordinated hands. He trips down the way a bit more, head spinning, and searches for his car.

That kinda looks like it.

He squints through the smoke shrouding his face and nearly loses his footing off the curb as he falls onto a car he realises too late is not his.

Fuck, he's smashed.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Somebody is grabbing his shoulder, twirling him around.

He doesn't like when people touch him. He doesn't like it when he's sober but especially not when he's drunk and unsteady.

“Get the fuck--” He goes to shake the person off before the spark twisting his vision settles a bit and Steve Harrington’s worried face comes into view. “Off,” He finishes unsurely.

Steve puts both hands on Billy's shoulders and he realises he's tipping.

Billy snorts, looking for another cigarette. He looks down when Steve mumbles something, stamping out the one he dropped. At least he's let Billy go.

“I saw what happened,” Billy catches Steve say as he lights up another, taking a deep drag.

“You watchin’ me, pretty boy?” He slurs it to the stars. They're more visible than ever in California. 

“Jesus, you're so drunk, you can't drive.”

Billy's head lolls down to meet Steve’s eye, which he realises is still slightly up. The boy is taller than him. The thought makes him scowl. Before processing what Steve had said.

“I'm leaving, Harrington, and there's nothing you can do about it.”

“Gimme your keys,” Steve's got that mother hen look; one hand on his hip jutted out, one reaching palm up.

“No thanks, _ mom, _” He turns, looking for his car again. “I'll take my chances.”

“Yeah well, I won't!” Steve grabs his elbow to try and stop him and this time Billy does shake him off with a growl.

“Don't fucking touch me,” He stumbles away a bit, earth moving closer and closer to his face. When he smells grass and dirt he has the revelation that maybe he shouldn't be driving and also, the ground is oddly comfortable.

“Okay, come on big guy,” Against Billy's protesting Steve hauls him to his feet and maneuvers him to walk back towards his not-car. “My car’s not too far.”

Billy's not sure he's actually talking to him, can barely hear him over the rushing in his ears. The arm around his waist burns all the way up his throat and when he turns his head Steve's face is so close he could count his eyelashes had Billy's eyes been working properly.

He decides against saying anything and lets Steve man handle him until he's being thrown, gently, into the passenger seat.

Billy leans against the door when it closes, the cold window feeling fantastic against his overheated face. He catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and thinks he looks good. If his eyes would just focus a bit better and his limbs would lighten up he could even fix his hair.

By the time Steve is settled in and the car is in drive Billy already feels himself drifting off.

\----

“_ Hargrove _!”

Billy snaps awake, dizziness quickly stalling his movement. He groans, tipping his head back and closing his eyes again.

“Hey, shithead, come on, let's go in.”

“Go in?” Billy cracks his eyes open only to look at Steve. He still looks slightly worried but maybe a bit more annoyed.

“Luna's,” And Steve smacks his shoulder lightly before getting out.

Billy frowns, stares at his arm, then follows on wobbly legs. Sleep has gotten rid of the worst of his buzz but the world doesn't quite look like itself.

Steve sits in his regular spot, back to the door, and Billy across from him. It's a bit busy and there's a little more staff than usual.

That guy, _ Donny _? is right there and ready with coffee mugs, like he saw them from a mile away.

“Thanks, Danny,” Steve gestures with his drink.

_ Danny, right. _

When he leaves, Billy says something. “You should stop sitting there.” He huffs, eyes closing once more as he leans back into the cheap diner upholstery.

“Why?” Steve sounds suspicious. Billy doesn't check to see if he's got that wary look in his eye.

“You're always so,” He sighs through his nose, words hard to string together fully. “Jumpy, like you should be on guard but aren't.” His chest hurts because he fucking feels that.

When Steve doesn't say anything Billy opens his eyes so he doesn't fall back asleep.

Billy squints against the harsh lights, grumbling into his coffee mug, “How do we always end up here?”

He looks up when Steve takes too long to answer. As soon as the older boy catches his eye, he shrugs. “Neutral ground?”

Billy snorts, eyes dropping partially shut. “This place is yours, Steve,” He doesn't think he's ever said his name out loud, without some kind of sarcastic comment or title surrounding it.

The older boys expression gives him away, shows Billy he is right. Steve clears his throat and repeats, “I saw what happened.”

“Fuckin’ cow,” Billy mumbles again, sneering into the coffee he is quickly beginning to despise. He doesn't like any of them. He doesn't _ want _any of them.

“If you don't like them why do you bother?”

Billy hadn't realised he said that out loud and looks confusedly at a stain on the table. “It's easier this way,” Billy breathes out. He puts his head in his hands and groans lowly.

He's so fucked. He used to be so good at this: getting wasted, wasted enough he could take some girl to some room and fuck her and be able to say he did it but never remember. Now, he gets so fucked up Steve _ fucking _Harrington has to save his ass.

The caffeine is quickly working his system, sobering him up. He wishes he had more beer.

He hears Steve make a peep before an only slightly familiar voice is calling Steve's name.

“Hopper?” Steve sounds confused, and Billy hears him shuffle in his seat.

_ Shouldn't sit with your back to the door. _

“Hey, kid,” That cop.

Billy would think Steve just might be a bit of a badass if it didn't sound like the guy was Steve's favourite uncle or something. He doesn't lift his head or really even move except for each breath he takes.

“Hargrove, you alright?”

Billys flips him off without taking his head out of his hands and is rewarded with a huff he knows is Steve.

“Don't be a dick.” It's almost a question.

Despite how a headache is already forming, Billy smiles, lifting his face. “Just dandy, officer,”

The man is in uniform and Billy wonders what time it is and why he isn't at home like _ Billy _should be. He's got a frown similar to one Steve wears when, Billy now realises, he's mother-henning.

“He's wasted,” Steve supplies, snorting at the glare Billy sends him.

“I'm fine,” Billy says gruffly as he takes a harsh sip of lukewarm coffee. He really is, every drink he takes the more sober he seems to get.

“I thought I told you no more fighting,” Hopper doesn't say it like he cares, more long-suffering.

Billy's face twists into one of those ugly smiles, no teeth. The stretch hurts his lip. “Didn't start this one, pig,”

“Billy--”

“You expect me to believe that?” Hopper simply stares.

“Believe it or don't I don't give a fuck,” Billy turns his face away so they'll both stop staring and if his legs felt a little sturdier he would bolt.

Steve clears his throat and Billy takes another sip, eyes outside but ears on their conversation. 

“What're you doing here?”

“What're _ you _doing here with the guy that beat your face in?”

Billy nearly chokes on his drink. Well, shit. Usually he would appreciate that kind of bluntness but his eyes can only drift up to that ugly pink scar on a freckled forehead and very faint bruises left over the bridge of Steve's nose. He's honestly just glad they're not still talking about his own face.

Hopper hovers above them, expression ever stern.

“Uh,” Steve scratches the back of his neck, looking between Billy and Hopper like they're going to start swinging. “Making amends?”

“Already did that,” Billy supplies unhelpfully.

“Right,” Steve says, like it is helpful, still sharing his eye contact. “Saving your drunk ass from driving, then.”

“Bingo,” Billy mutters, eyes downcast.

“Right,” Hopper parrots, like it's the most logical answer he's ever received to a question. A question Billy doesn't even know the answer to really; he's not entirely sure what's going on right now.

“Now answer _ me _,” Steve raises his eyebrows to the officer.

Hopper lets out a little burst of breath that might be something of a laugh, looking at the bar, where only _ Danny _ scurries behind, like he wants to escape to it. He looks cautious when he turns back. “Waffles, for Jane.”

Billy squints at the man. Then at Steve, who he asks, “Who's Jane?” Simply because he knows Hopper probably won't answer.

Steve seems to contemplate it with Hopper, again speaking without speaking. Maybe it's just Steve. Maybe he's the one that holds the key to this telepathy epidemic. And Billy thinks he could use about eighty-seven hours of sleep.

“Don't worry about it” Steve says as he turns back to the younger man. Even though his face says ‘don't ask questions’ Billy just can't help himself.

“Is she your kid?” He directs it to Hopper this time.

“You should mind your own, and get some food, it'll help with the hangover.” The dickhead smirks.

Billy opens his mouth to ask something else, because Hopper is leaving without really giving him any answers and he _ hates _ that, but Steve kicks him under the table.

“Don't, just leave it,”

Billy wants to be angry at their avoidance but instead he just frowns and looks out the window again. It's silent between them for a few minutes until Hopper comes back, pulling Steve aside.

Again, he finds himself wanting to get angry, but through the haze he can't dredge it up.

He watches them talk outside, Hopper pulling out a cigarette, offering one to Steve who turns it down. He says something that makes Steve laugh, shaking his head. When Hopper is apparently done he claps Steve on the shoulder and the teen looks up at him like he might to his father. 

Maybe Billy shouldn't watch something that looks a little too personal, but he doesn't care.

When he sits back down Steve's got this look on his face, it's not quite a smile but it's close, and it's somewhat sheepish.

“Should I take you home or do you actually want to get food?”

“As long as you're buyin’.”


	2. December, ¹⁹⁸⁴

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is also from like 2 years ago. next chapter will be more recently written so hopefully my writing is better, not worse? but who fucken knows. im okay w being mediocre at best.

Billy nearly misses work the next morning because he spends most of it tracking down his car (which, lucky for Steve Harrington, is undamaged). When he picks up Max she gives him shit about being too early and he's so not in the mood and to avoid doing anything stupid he blasts his music through their respectable neighborhood.

He's fucking fuming when he gets to the garage, slamming his door so loud Trent hears it and peeks out from the side door.

“You good, _ hermano _?”

“Besides being an hour late yeah I'm fuckin’ _ fantastic _.” Billy growls the last part, slamming his way inside.

Trent gives Billy his space.

After an hour of near silent working (excluding Trent’s blaring radio) he calls Billy over to help check someone's brake light.

“Hit the breaks,” Trent yells from behind.

The radio and rumbling engine only serve to irritate Billy further. He feels his face falling into a permanent scowl.

“Okay, kill the engine.”

Billy turns the keys as gently as he can in his slowly festering anger.

The one fucking thing he's good at, and he can't even do that right.

“You know,” Trent starts, coming around the side of the car with a rag wrapped around his hand. “I've told you it's okay if you're a bit late, really man, you're fine.”

Billy knows Trent says it to reassure him but it only makes his eyes burn with shame. He doesn't apologize, just gives a short nod and tries to reign in his rage.

He waits until he's in the back room before he growls roughly and lets a fist land one solid hit to the lockers. They rattle and creak but don't fall or dent. It makes Billy a little angrier, self destructive.

Another hour passes before someone is audibly pulling up outside.

“You wanna take care of that?” Trent calls over to Billy from a personal car he's tinkering with.

Billy sighs and goes about wiping his hands off, but before he can even move across the large work space someone is knocking timidly and stepping inside.

“Hi,” Steve _ fucking _Harrington looks around, steps further inside, then catches sight of Trent across the room. “Does Billy Hargrove work here?”

Billy scowls; he had to have seen his car.

Steve continues walking in like he fucking belongs there. It makes Billy fume.

“Ya blind now, not just stupid?” Billy says calmly, nose flaring as anger crawls up his throat at the mild surprise on Steve's face.

“Um, excuse me?” Steve gives him a frown.

“Hey, _ problemo _?” He directs it to Billy. As if it isn't easy for Steve to tell what he's saying.

Billy shakes his head after a moment. “_ Él pendejo, _ ” He sighs as a means to hold in his anger, wringing his rag. _ “Pero él no problemo. _”

“_ Bueno, si tú lo dices.” _

_ “Eso dije,” _Billy insists, because he doesn't need help with his little Steve problem. He's got it handled.

When he turns back to said teen, Steve's eyebrows are so high up his forehead Billy actually almost laughs.

“Take this outside,” Trent says roughly, clearly trying to hide an amused smile. Suddenly the tension in Billy's shoulders lightens a bit and he walks past Steve with a little bit of his usual arrogance.

Just to be a dick, “_ ¿Vienes o no _?”

Billy knows Steve doesn't actually understand but feels his eyes on the back of his head anyways.

When they're outside a little ways away from Steve's car, Billy stops and lets Steve move to face him.

“What is it, Harrington?”

Steve huffs. “I went to your house this morning, to drive you back to your car, but you weren't home.”

“Yeah, well, I was a little busy trying to get to work on time.” Billy clicks his jaw.

“I couldn't let you drive last night.” Steve's eyebrows furrow and it's back to being mother-hen, apparently.

“Why the fuck were you even there?” Billy snaps his rag to do something with his hands, peering off down the road. “Thought that wasn't your scene any more.”

Steve chuckles, and when Billy looks back his eyes are downcast.

“Max,”

Billy frowns, lips curling. “What?” It's like a never ending game of confusion with this guy.

“I told you, she wants me to keep an eye out for you.”

_ For? _

Billy very nearly bites his tongue off. He thinks of a lot of things in the next ten seconds before he's getting in Steve's space. He thinks that if Steve really wanted to ‘save' him, he shouldn't openly admit it's only by request of a little fucking brat. He thinks about the fact that it shouldn't bother him so much that Steve doesn't actually care. He thinks that Steve _ shouldn't _care, Billy's a piece of shit not worth the gum stuck carelessly under their school desks.

“Man, what's your damage?” Billy's shouting, shoving Steve's chest.

Steve just laughs a little ruefully, rubbing at the spot Billy's hands had been, looking off to the side. “Max, man, she made me promise, they've got me whipped.”

“Jesus fuck,” Billy rubs a hand down his face, willing himself to gain control, cool off. “You could just like, not fucking do what thirteen year olds say,” He gives him a tight lipped smile and eyes maybe a little crazy.

He's going to have to have a talk with her.

Steve shrugs and smiles close mouthed and crooked. “Yeah, but where's the fun in that.” He shrugs again, starting to walk backwards. 

Billy's stomach coils slightly at the thought of Steve finding his slow downward spiral amusing.

When he just stares, Steve turns smoothly on his heel. ”Glad to see you got your car, by the way!” He throws up a thumb without turning around and Billy wishes he would simply so he could flip him off.

He doesn't wait for Steve to get into his car, instead storms back into the shop in a flustered mess.

He really feels like he's losing it.

Billy, always, inexplicably, falls into Steve's orbit.

\----

The second weekend into December and Billy finds himself volunteering to take Max to the Snow Ball.

He doesn't know why he offers on the way to school that Friday, but it's been a quiet couple of weeks. His burn and bruises and cuts have healed, and he watches as Steve's face quickly follows suit.

He makes sure not to pick any fights with Neil, to be gone as much as is physically possible when he's on constant babysitting duty.

Him and Harrington don't talk but Billy watches. He watches the way Steve sticks to mostly himself, sometimes talking to the Wheeler bitch or that freak Byers, eats lunch either with the basketball team or in his car, alone.

He wonders what happened to King Steve and all of his honour.

“Are you sick?” Max is staring at him like he's grown a second head.

The boy scowls. “No?”

“Then why are you _ offering _to give me a ride, is there, I dunno, some kind of catch?” Now she's got that wary look that Steve gets when he catches Billy's eyes on him.

He keeps up the face. “I'm just tryna be fuckin’ nice, Maxine, take it or leave it.”

She's quiet for a long time before they pull into the school's parking lot. 

Billy's eyes want to seek out Steve but instead he turns to his step-sister, waiting.

There's a wrinkle between her brow and she's still looking at him.

“Yeah,” Max says finally, snapping out of something. “Yeah, alright,”

They both know he would have probably been ordered to take her anyways.

Billy nods once and gets out of the car before even Max.

\----

He's pacing. He knows he's pacing, but he's irritable.

Max has been shooting Billy suspicious looks all day, any time she got the chance. He knows their relationship is unsteady, nothing absolute. He has been trying to be better.

When he stops for a moment, just in view of the bathroom, he tries very hard not to smile, laugh even, at the look she shoots him despite Susan's fussing.

_ ‘Say anything and your balls are toast’ _

Billy gets the message, continuing his pacing with a quiet huff.

When Susan has decided her daughter is made-up enough for this ridiculous dance, Max is storming past Billy and out the door with a shout at him to follow.

Susan doesn’t thank him for taking her, but she does give him a shaky smile on her way to the living room. 

As Billy makes his way past his father, Neil stops him. “Have her home by nine.”

Billy tries to pull free. “Don't come home without her,” His voice is as firm as the grip on Billy's forearm.

Billy tears away, doesn't bother agreeing, and is out of the door after Max too quickly for his father to possibly get angry at his son's dismissive lack of response.

Max fidgets the entire time there and Billy feels like he should say something, then scowls when he realises he doesn't have to say shit.

She shifts again.

“Jesus,” His foot falls heavier on the gas pedal. “Would you stop squirming like that, you're gonna scuff up the leather.”

She doesn't respond but he thinks she sends him a sneer. She sits still.

He pulls up to the front of the school with blaring music and squealing tires and Max gives him a dirty look when kids startle on the sidewalk.

“Be out by eight.”

She harrumphs, hand stalled on the door handle. “Eight-thirty,” 

“_ Eight _,”

“_ Eight-thirty _!” 

He gives her a hard look, gesturing with an unlit cigarette. “Max, if you're not out of that door at eight o’clock sharp I'm coming in and dragging your ass out myself.”

“Jesus,” She frowns and kicks the door open. “_ Fine, _”

When she slams it shut, Billy yells after her. “The paint job, shitbird!”

She flips him off and stomps inside, not looking back.

He breathes harshly out of his nose, leaning back and making sure she goes inside.

He goes to pull up and out of the parking lot when he spots a familiar car up ahead. The only reason Steve Harrington would be a middle school dance is to drop off that little curly haired shit. Or maybe he really is a creep.

It takes a minute of Billy sitting there idle, staring like _ he's _the creep, for the Beemer’s car door to open and a kid to hop out. His hair is slicked back and poofed up and altogether looks fucking stupid. It makes him snort.

Billy uses the fact that Harrington just sits there for a minute and pulls up next to him. His head is turned towards the building, body slumped over the wheel like he’ll collapse without it. Billy revs his engine to draw the other kid's attention.

It works and has Steve propping his chin on his folded arms, looking unimpressed. Someone honks behind Billy. He takes up both lanes and is blocking any number of parents from making their own hasty retreat.

Billy flashes a toothy smile at Harrington, one he knows is charming, challenging, enough to make Steve want to follow. Then he pulls away and takes care to maintain a speed he knows Harrington will be able to catch up to.

He doesn’t have anywhere to go so only goes as far as the highschool parking lot which is blessedly empty.

It’s gotten a little chilly and he doesn’t want to get out but if he doesn’t then Harrington won’t and then they’ll just to be two douchebags sitting in their cars parked next to each other. So he busies his hands with a cigarette and sits on the hood of the Camaro with it still running. At least his ass will be warm.

Harrington, ever predictable, takes no longer than a minute to park a spot over. He mimics Billy, sans cigarette.

Neither of them say anything and Billy lights up another.

“What?”

Billy laughs a little. "I didn't say anything, Harrington."

"Didn't have to."

They stand in silence, breath and car fumes fogging the air, dancing in the headlights.

"I don't know." Billy huffs through his nose, smoke puffing out in hot tendrils. His nostrils burn.

“Well listen, it’s cold and dark and not that I _ care _...about either of those things, but unless you brought me to the school parking lot for something important then...then I’m probably gonna...head out, why’re you looking at me like that?”

“You afraid of the dark, Harrington?”

“Dude, no, but you never know what’s around here.” He sticks his hands in the pocket of his jeans, pointedly looking out towards the dark trees.

Billy figures Steve does know better than he would.

“You got somewhere better?”

“Um, I was gonna just go home until the dance was over.”

“Great, you can drive behind me, you’re too slow.” Billy’s already moving.

“No offense but…”

Billy stops.

“My parents are home and it’s kinda like, family time so…”

Billy feels very stupid all of a sudden and hides it with a grin. He knew better than to get eager. “What, mommy and daddy won’t approve?”

“It’s not that, man.” Steve sighs, facing out again, face scrunching up. “It’s family time, they’re never home so, it’s always special when they are, I _ know that’s corny _.”

He’s looking down at his shoes making a face like he’s the one being dumb. 

“Nah,” Billy says carefully, guarding himself. “I’m sure it’s nice.”

Before Steve can respond Billy’s ducking into his car yelling something about watching the trees.

\----

Billy drives around for awhile without purpose and without direction. He takes his own advice and doesn’t stray too close to the tree line. He’s gotta give the place props, for as boring and shitty as it is during the light of day, shit really gets spooky at night. Maybe he’s just letting Harrington get to him. On several different levels.

He bites the inside of his mouth until his jaw aches, parking outside the school doors. He’s a little early but what the fuck else was he supposed to do. He doesn’t even spot Steve to possibly harass him again. He does spot the eldest Wheeler, though, draped in a large jacket. Must be that freaks. Man he can’t believe how limited the market is in this town.

He checks his watch.

7:43

God, and he knows she’s going to be late. And then he’s going to get another scolding to be reckoned with.

When eight o’clock rolls in and Max actually bounds out with her gaggle of brats he thanks his lucky stars.

He watches carefully as her and Sinclair say good-bye. That kid thinks he’s got game. Max is smart enough to challenge it, at least. She’s defiant as ever when he tries to pull her in for an awkward hug. She’s got a big grin though as she punches his shoulder lightly.

Her grin doesn’t dissipate even when she tumbles her way into the Camaro. She barely acknowledges Billy as he drives off and she waves back at the group bidding her farewell. 

“They put something in the punch?” Billy tries.

“What?” There she is. 

“You haven’t stopped smiling since you left.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I just had a good time, you should try it some time.”

He makes a little noise like a laugh but not really ‘cause it’s not that funny. “Yeah, yeah,”

Billy doesn’t find it completely repulsive that she could enjoy herself in a shithole like this anymore so Harrington must _ really _be getting in his head. Plus she left when he told her to so he has no reason to be mad in the least.

“Thanks,” He forces out.

“What?”

He breathes a little rougher. Quietly, “For coming out when I asked.”

She laughs sarcastically. “You didn’t ask, you told.”

“Max…” He’s not trying to start a fight. Clearly they’re both trying to get over their prejudices.

“Right...sure.” She says completely _ un _sure. 

Good enough.

\----

It’s over Max running off again, what breaks the precarious peace in the Hargrove home. It’s only mere days after the school dance. Her window is open, their parents got home later than they promised, and Billy is rudely woken up by his father. This time Susan isn't standing in the doorway when Neil throws him up against the wall, up against a shelf, hits him hard across the face.

Billy doesn't fall, despite his father's anger almost making his knees crumble. He knows what that will get him; enough bruises he'll be out of basketball for a week.

When Billy answers for what has to be the millionth time that he doesn't know where she is, she hadn't told him, he hadn't meant to fall asleep, it's not _ his fault, _ Neil has him pinned to the shelving in a way he knows will leave dark bruises.

“You will find her,” Neil leans in close enough that Billy can no longer avoid looking into his father's eyes. “For what you better hope is the last time.”

Billy opens his mouth to spit out blood, maybe, or even keep the fight going, get himself another bruise or two.

“If I hear one more word out of your mouth that isn't ‘yes, sir’ you'll regret it,” Neil’s mouth is open in an almost smile, eyes hard and fiery. “Son.” 

Billy feels like he's going to be sick. His temple aches where Neil's ring had gotten him one time too many, his cheeks burning as he holds in tears.

“Yes, _ sir, _” He seethes.

Despite his sons locked jaw, stiff body, anger _ burning _in his eyes, Neil is seemingly satisfied. He takes a step back but doesn't turn away. His voice is demanding, no give. “Go find her, now,”

\----

Billy finds Max by accident. He's driving dangerously close to the line of trees, eye swelling so much it's hard to see straight. He's going fast enough that his stomach flips.

If he hadn't been slowing down for a turn, he probably would have hit her and her little pack of brats.

The tires squeal against pavement and the children scatter as Billy stops in the middle of the deserted back road.

He sees how they are; covered in mud and leaves, and feels himself start to lose control. This is just like that night.

Before Billy fully knows what he's doing he's throwing himself out of the car, slamming his door hard enough the frame shakes.

The car’s headlights illuminate them, casting Billy in terrifying shadows. And he must be a sight to behold because nobody makes a sound except for a few hitched breaths. The kids are frozen and despite all of their previous bravado look nervous.

“Max, get in the fucking car.”

That spurs them into action, Lucas going to stand in front of her as Billy gets closer. “Hey man, back off--”

She pushes him aside, eyes never leaving her step-brother's.

“It's fine, Lucas,”

Billy nearly snarls at the look Sinclair shoots her.

She steps around her friend, patting his arm in what seems to be no reassurance.

“Billy--” She starts, face looking more and more grim. 

But Billy cuts her off with a sharp grasp of her bicep, dragging her to the passenger side. He ignores the outraged cries from the others, watches out of the corner of his eye as they seem to battle with tempting fate or not by going after them.

“Get in the _ fucking _car,” He shoves her into the body, rounding to his side.

“Hargrove, I swear to God--” It's the curly one, the one always hanging off of Steve.

“You wanna test your luck, shithead?” Billy is in the driver's side before any of them can respond and he revels in their wide eyed expressions as the Camaro screeches in a dangerous backwards turn.

His nostrils are flaring but he's otherwise silent as they drive. He ignores the energy he can feel coming off of Max in waves. It's oppressive.

When she breaks the silence Billy has to fight the bile rising up from his gut.

“You know this is all really just _ screwed up _,” Billy doesn't think he's seen her this mad since last October.

“What is?” He mutters, fight starting to leave him the angrier she seems to get.

“I didn't know,” Her wild eyes are on him and her face is shifting, like it can't decide between looking sad or furious. “I didn't know your dad hit you, until that night with Lucas.”

Billy shrugs, not saying anything. He's not sure what she needs to hear. That it doesn't matter, that it's _ fine, _ that none of it is _ her fault. _Because Billy believes all of that, and nothing matters.

“I mean I knew he got mad sometimes, and heard you guys fighting but I always thought you were just… Being you, throwing shit,”

Billy bites his cheek so hard his mouth rings.

“Me and my mom are dragged into this now, too,” Max has apparently decided how she feels fully and is incensed, entire body turned towards him. “What are we supposed to do.”

Billy's throat starts to ache and his eyes burn. “Nothing, Max, it doesn't fucking matter, he wouldn't ever fucking touch the little princess or his queen.”

Her arms flail and she huffs. “It's not _ okay _!”

He feels a restless anger stirring, stomach curling. “You don't breathe a word of this to _ anyone _, Lucas doesn't, Susan doesn't, and we're absolutely fuckin’ fantastic.”

“But--”

“I _ fucking _mean it, Max, don't you fucking dare.”

Max slumps, deflating like a helium balloon.

“Mouth breather,”

Billy barely hears her.

“What?”

“Neil's a mouth breather, worse than a mouth breather.”

Billy apparently has to repeat himself. “_ What _?”

“Nothing...something Mike says, like, when something's the absolute worst.” She says it like Billy's supposed to know all of that already. “Neil's the worst,” Max continues quietly, slumping further into the seat.

Billy sighs harshly through his nose. “The pits,”

His mind works everything, over and over, ignoring his face throbbing and his chest aching.

\----

To Billy, that's the moment him and Max truly understand each other. It's a little angry, and full of aggression, but suddenly he feels like Max is on his side and maybe he is on hers.

She's now safely tucked away in her room after an only slightly stern talking to. Max had been spared from watching Billy's second round of punishment.

“You will not go anywhere that your sister--” Neil pauses deliberately and with emphasis, nose flaring. “Doesn't. You will take mine or Susan's car, but as of now, yours stays where it's parked."

Susan looks like she wants to object and frustrated tears spring to Billy's eyes. She has no reason, she has no job, nothing she actually needs her car for.

Now, Billy taking care of Billy? Old hat. He'll figure his shit out. As long as Neil doesn't tow the Camaro.

Billy stares at his own folded hands on the table, vision blurred through his swollen eye.

Susan doesn't dare move from her spot behind Neil at the head chair. Luckily no fists or feet or harsh words were being thrown around this time.

“How long?” Billy asks, dares to speak.

“As long as I very well say.” Is Neil's only response. He does that thing Billy absolutely hates, and he doesn't even have to look up to see the face he's making. It's a rough huff through his nostrils, mouth closed tightly, down-turned with disappointment.

Billy doesn't retreat until he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Neil move to the living room. Susan starts to say something quietly, so maybe Neil won't hear but just the thought makes Billy sick.

He doesn't need her pity, or empty apologies, or _ anything _ from _ anyone _.

He stands against the closed door of his bedroom for a long time. Everything is a wreck. Books and records and tapes and clothes are strewn all over. There's a shelf broken from where his father had thrown him.

He bites down on his lip hard so he won't start to cry again. He's so fucking lost.

He just knows he has to leave. He doesn't have his car, but he does have his legs, and despite it being frighteningly cold outside he would rather face that then the reality of his life.

\----

It was so rare of Neil to put bruises on Billy so public, so very evident, but here it was easier. Easier to build up a reputation of a fighter. Neil knew Billy wouldn't dispute it, would take that image and wear it like a mask. 

By the time he starts to really feel the worst of his injuries, Billy finds himself outside of Steve Harrington's house. At his front door. He knows the Beemer but there’s another car there, too. Maybe Wheeler? 

He’s about to turn away when there’s movement in the window, a curtain being drawn back and some kind of candle holder being taken out of frame. It pulls back enough for Billy to see a woman who looks strikingly like Steve. She must see him too because she pauses, turns away, then is gone.

He remembers too late that Steve’s parents are supposed to be in town and really is about to turn away but then the door is swinging open and the woman--she has to be Mrs. Harrington--is gasping at his appearance. 

“My goodness, what happened to you, dear?” Her forehead creases. 

“Uh--” He’s lost his charm, suddenly.

“Billy?” Steve is there behind his mom, face paler than usual.

The welt on Billy’s temple throbs.

“You know this boy, Steven?” His mom huffs. “Of course you do.”

“Mom--”

“Billy, is it?” She’s facing Billy with a peculiar smile, eyes scanning his face. He nods. She gestures him in.

The house is as warm as he remembers it and he shivers at the difference. It’s not until he’s fully inside that he not only sees what must be Steve’s father at a lavish dining table but also that they are all dressed in nice clothes like tonight was not at all a casual evening in.

“Sorry did I--”

“Interrupt the first night of Hanukkah? Yes, but that’s fine, go get cleaned up and you can join us.” Mrs. Harrington is smiling tightly, but it’s still nice. Like maybe she doesn’t smile a lot.

They’re--_ Steve’s Jewish? _

“I’ll show you where it is.” Steve volunteers himself.

He grabs Billy’s arm and steers him out of the room before Billy can protest.

Billy tenses at the grip but doesn’t shake Steve off until they’re out of view of his parents.

He yanks himself free, wheezing a little at the effort it takes. Steve has him in an iron vice.

“Don’t.” Billy growls, walking himself the rest of the way to the bathroom. Steve trails behind.

“Sorry, sorry, are you okay?” He keeps his voice down. “What the fuck happened?”

Billy grabs a towel, gets it damp, and ignores how much it hurts as he drags it across his face and cleans himself up. Other than the welt on his forehead and cut across his nose and lip he looks alright. A bit red and purple-y but mostly alright. His ribs are probably another story. Steve just stands there whispering incessantly, asking again and again what the hell he’s doing here and what happened and why. 

“I’m gonna go.” Billy says when he’s done wiping the worst of his sweat and blood.

“Wha--Billy will you answer me?”

“What’s there to say?”

“You are fucking unbelievable, you know that? I’m your...I’m your friend, man…” Steve looks a little wary when Billy looks up, but otherwise sure of himself. “Just tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“We’re not friends.”

Steve’s face does that thing where it scrunches up like he doesn’t know what to say, or even what he’s feeling. "Fine, we're not friends…"

“I’m going to leave, now.” He keeps his voice level. Tries to show how unaffected he is by Harrington’s sudden display of concern. But Christ, he’s making it hard to stay quiet. Steve’s got a soft face, like you could say anything to it and he would have something ridiculous to say but exactly what you need to hear.

“Easier said than done.”

“I don’t have time--”

“My mom, man, she’s Italian, you can’t get past her unless you’ve already had, like, ten helpings.”

“She’s awful fit to be Italian.”

“Dude,” Steve makes a face.

Billy wants to literally run for the fucking hills. His stomach does a couple unsure flips when he looks Steve in the eyes. They're so big and brown and sincere. He thinks he's gonna be sick.

"I'm going to leave,"

Steve just rolls his eyes, turning back around and walking away without another word.

Billy does attempt to leave, but just as Steve said she would, Mrs. Harrington wrangles him in to sitting down at the table and somehow he ends up with a plate full of greasy, fried food.

"This isn't very usual, to let a goy at our table, but we're glad to have you." His mom does that smile again, lifting a glass of wine to her bright red lips.

Steve looks pained. It almost gets Billy to laugh. He doesn't know what _ goy _ means, but he feels like maybe he should be offended.

"It means non-Jew," Steve explains quietly, even though his parents must hear. Billy ignores him.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Harrington, I do feel awful bad for barging in like this." All charm. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Oh nonsense, it's nice to share our family traditions with Steven's good friends, and you can call me Maria."

"Of course, Maria." He knows how to make his smile, bruises or not. She doesn't seem affected but he's not concerned. 

"This is Daniel, Steven's father."

The man looks stern, but not harsh. He acknowledges Billy with a nod.

Mr. Harrington has been silent up until this point, almost like he's half asleep, but also hyper-alert. It puts Billy on edge.

After that, Billy just stays quiet and eats his fried food. The potato thing is good, and there are donuts that nobody tells him to lay off of. He listens as Steve and his parents discuss trivial things, Steve sometimes shooting him these looks Billy can't help but tease at with that grin of his. Steve talks only briefly about school before the conversation somehow gets to Wheeler.

"Her and Jonathan Byers are dating now, mom, I told you already."

"I've heard things about that boy," Mrs. Harrington says into her dish, mumbling almost.

Steve's father speaks louder. "_Faygala_,"

Steve doesn't say anything but Billy watches his face visibly pale. That must not be good.

“He's my friend, mom, Nancy, too."

His mother gives him a small smile, nodding passively. "She was nice is all,"

"_Is_ nice," Steve insists.

"Alright, Steven," Billy's jaw clicks at Mr. Harrington's tone, unable to stop his natural reaction. 

Up until this point Billy reveled in the fact that it was probably one of the only dinners in his life he didn't feel under surveillance.

Steve has stopped eating and is staring down at his plate. Billy doesn't like that look on him, it’s defeated. Pathetic.

"May we be excused?"

Mrs. Harrington looks like she wants to object but before he takes a bite of food, Mr. Harrington gestures slightly with his fork.

Steve is up, eyeing Billy up as he waits in the hallway.

He takes his time, thanking Steve's parents for the dinner, and allowing him into their home.

Steve has this look in his eye when Billy finally catches up, like he couldn't be more annoyed. But also like he's debating with himself about something.

"You can probably escape now if you want."

"What's 'faygaga', or whatever, mean?"

Steve frowns, starts walking. Billy follows.

"Fayga_ la _, and it means…it means faggot."

Billy tenses, stomach flipping. 

"Unfortunately for you, I don't think that's the case." He says to distract himself. 

Steve makes a little sound, and then he's stopping outside of a door.

"Um…" Steve turns around, back to the door. "This is my room."

"Great, you gonna invite me in, pretty boy?" Billy raises an eyebrow.

Steve rolls his eyes, _ again _, but opens the door.

"Ta-da." Steve says lamely, awkwardly, and steps more inside so Billy can follow suit, closing the door behind him.

He takes a good look around.

"So, your folks…" He starts, but doesn't know how to finish it.

“They're gone a lot, mostly for my dad's business, sometimes for vacation.”

Billy hums, still looking around Steve's tidy room. It wasn't what he had expected.

Steve keeps talking, a little rushed now. “But it's like, a _ thing _that they make it back for holidays--our holidays--and every year they always do.” Billy watches Steve shrug out of the corner of his eye. The boys shoulders are tense and his eyes follow Billy's slow prowl around the perimeter.

He stops at a dresser with a single picture on top. Steve and Wheeler and Byers, clearly taken by unsteady hands, but nothing could hide their grins. They look happy.

“So, Jesus isn't your messiah?” He says to the picture of a Steve he's never met.

Steve snorts. “God isn't my god, either.”

“Don't believe?” Billy asks mockingly, finally turning away and facing the older boy.

Steve shrugs again.

Billy nods, “I believe in monsters.”

When Steve chokes a little at that, eyes widening, Billy looks away, finds his way to the closed up window. The pool below illuminates everything in blue when the curtains are pulled open.

“What?”

“Like,” Billy makes a face, moving his hands. “The metaphorical kind.” He watches Steve's reflection nod a little, face falling into one of discomfort.

“The boogeyman ain't real, _ princess _,” Billy leans back against the window, puffy face tipping back with a mean grin. “Unless you know somethin’ I don't.”

Steve's got a shit poker-face. Billy already knew this of course, but it never gets less amusing watching him turn his head to the side with a scoff and half smile.

“Anyone ever tell you you're kind of a weirdo?”

Steve laughs fully, body still a little wound tight, eyes a little shifty.

“Not really, but it's not the worst I've ever heard.”

\----

When he gets home later that night, the door is locked.

He has to go around to his bedroom window--that he specifically keeps unlocked--and goes about trying to open it. He's freezing his ass off at this point and for some reason the window won't budge. He growls in frustration, still trying to keep his voice down. 

Neil must have locked it or some shit. Fuck.

He's going to have to chance it with Max.

Billy goes all the way around to the other side of the house and just stands by Max's window for a minute, getting angrier the colder he becomes. 

"Jesus," He whispers harshly, kicking the dirt.

Finally he knocks on the glass.

Nothing happens.

He knocks again, a little longer and a little louder.

When nothing happens still, he can't risk getting louder but he draws out the next knock so long that the window actually starts opening against his knuckles. 

"Billy, what are you doing?" Max whispers harshly, red hair not looking slept on in the least despite it being quite late. 

"Unlock the front door."

She makes a face. "What?"

"Max," He huffs roughly out of his nose, rubbing his forehead. "_ Please _ unlock the front door, I'm freezing my balls out here."

She debates for a second, but then the windows closed and she's gone.

"Oh for fucks--"

He hears the front door open and wastes no time rounding the front and escaping into the heat of Neil's house.

"Thanks, squirt." He even shoves at her head a little bit. She bats his hand away but doesn't look too aggrieved.

"Are you okay?" She asks when they're both standing at their bedroom doors. 

"Don't worry about me."

"Where'd you go?"

Billy doesn't know what the point of lying would be at this point. "Steve's."

"What?" She steps closer to Billy's door, face incredulous.

"Yeah, we…"

"Are you guys…?"

"Max--"

She shoves him a bit into his room and follows in, shutting the door.

"Hey, get the fuck--"

"Shut it, don't wake up Neil."

Billy wheezes. God, at least she's learning.

"Are you and Steve friends now?"

Billy sighs. "I don't know?" He shrugs, standing idly in the middle of his room while Max just looks around, curious. She's never really seen the inside of this room before, not since California.

She spots the poster of the model by his home-made vanity and scoffs.

"Your room is cool, I like the new posters."

She gestures to the bands.

"Um, thanks? Now get out," He shoves her a little.

"I just can't believe Steve would be friends with you." She dodges him, smirking a little and plopping down on his bed.

He thinks about maybe just getting angry, physically removing her puny ass. Instead he just bites the inside of his mouth and sits on the floor facing her. 

"Yeah, me neither."

She folds up her legs on the bed and looks down at him blankly.

"You're not such an asshole anymore."

Billy's face crumbles a bit, eyebrows drawing together.

"Billy,” Max mumbles, face shifting to something more serious.

Billy's stomach tightens and his throat closes up. “Yeah?” He wants to say something snarky but anxiety starts to bubble.

“I'm...I'm _ really _sorry.”

Billy looks down at his hands, spreads them out and examines the scars.

She goes on, “I'm sorry for everything I've done that...that's gotten you in trouble with your dad, I never meant for it, you just treated me like...like shit, and I thought you deserved it.”

Her face is mostly turned downward, hair falling in the way.

He can see her chin is wobbling and dimpled, eyes nearly spilling over.

"And I'm sorry...I'm sorry about California. I didn't know it meant anything, I didn't know Matty was--"

He hears his own breath catch and heart throb at the mention of Matty. He feels his expression matching hers. “Max,”

“No, Billy, you don't deserve what your dad does to you, you're a _ dick _but nobody deserves that.”

Billy sniffles roughly. “Shit, kid, it's _ fine, _nobody's fault but my own.”

“No it's not,” Max sounds so fierce it nearly startles him. “It's Neil's,”

He stands up, not sure what to do. Maybe pace. He stays still, and pretends his little sister crying doesn't make him lose it a little.

"Don't fuckin' cry over this shit kid, we gotta move on, make the best of it."

"Oh yeah?" She says sarcastically, sniffling a little.

"He's not ever gonna touch you, I don't think, and if he does then we're both the fuck outta here, deal?" He loses a bit of his gusto, voice hollowing out. "I'll drive us all the way back to sunny California."

Big eyes, calculating as ever, look his face all over. She knows it's an empty promise but it gets her to smile a little anyways. "Deal,"

"Now stop talking about this shit, especially here." He looks back at his door like Neil could barge in any minute. In reality he could, but Billy knows he won't. He always knows.

\----

It's Christmas break or, Billy thinks, Hanukkah break for Steve, so that means unless Neil is giving Billy his truck's keys to take Max somewhere, he has to walk. And it's fucking cold. So, this results in Billy almost always being home. He even has to call Trent and let him know he won't be able to work for a while, wouldn't blame him if he fired his ass. Trent does not fire him, but says he's going to work him extra hard when he comes back.

Sometimes he thinks Max asks to go places so Billy will stop being such an insufferably cagey asshole. Because according to Neil, Max has a strict curfew and Billy isn't allowed to leave her side until they come home _ at that time _.

Billy fucking hates Neil's shitty little truck, and hates even more that he can't smoke in it, but anything is better than being trapped in that hell hole of a house. 

The tension could suffocate you. And sometimes Billy's thought about it. Suffocating himself. Hanging himself. Drowning himself. When he's stuck too long in that house, in such close proximity with that man he calls his father, he might as well not be alive.

But Max keeps swooping in, right on time, to beg him to take her to the arcade, or the general store that Billy now knows Mrs. Byers works at, or one of her annoying friend's houses.

He also gets to see Steve sometimes. His parents are still in town though, and he's weird about people being over (which Billy _gets_), so it's only in chance meetings when they drop off their respective brats.

Billy would be loath to admit how much he craves Steve. Literally in any capacity. It's gotten so bad Max has even started to notice. How jittery he gets if Steve pulls up next to them outside the arcade, or how quickly he'll get out of the car if Steve's already waiting, cigarette lit up like he knew Billy would need it.

Christmas passes without incident and an only slightly over-cooked meal made by Susan and Max. Billy even scrapes together some of his saved money for a new board for Max. 

He gets a carton of smokes from Neil, a new Iron Maiden tape from Susan, and a bracelet from Max that looks homemade and all together a little girly. Neil gives him a hard look when he opens it, like, you better be grateful but I better never catch you wearing it.

Billy thanks Max with a little lop-sided smile, the only real one he's got and the one only she gets. "Thanks, Maxwell."

"You're welcome, _ Billiam _."

He snorts, and Susan looks pleased.

He's definitely going to wear the bracelet.

\----

New Years has his ass planted on the love-seat smushed uncomfortably at the end with Max on his right side and Susan at hers. 

He wishes he was anywhere else.

They watch on TV the fireworks and the ball drop and Susan and Neil giving a corny kiss to bring in 1985 that makes Max and Billy share a disgusted look.

He really would rather be anywhere else.


	3. January, ¹⁹⁸⁵

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy bitches!
> 
> kudos/comments/etc. are Very much appreciated

When break is over Billy gets his car back and he is no longer on house arrest. Outside of taking Max where she needs to go he's a free fucking man. His first solo drive in the Camaro he whoops and hollers like an idiot blasting the new tape from Susan. He even rolls the windows down despite the weather getting ever colder, letting the freezing wind blow his hair around. It’s the most slack Neil has cut him since being in Hawkins.

You always forget the good that you have until it’s gone.

School changes for Billy, too. He hangs around Tommy and Carol less and around Steve more. A lot of the time they just sit in either of their cars and smoke and eat lunch or under the bleachers if it’s not a particularly cold day. But today is, so Billy humors Steve by sitting with Wheeler and Byers. The three of them are more of the trio in that photo on Steve’s dresser than they were when Billy arrived. Something must have happened between them to settle the score.

Steve’s not so mopey and the two love birds look less guilty whenever they share a look or touch. They still don’t like Billy, though. Especially Wheeler. She’s actively protective of Steve despite having no real reason or right.

Today they are all getting along amiably enough. Billy’s got another bruise under his eye and Steve keeps shooting him looks. 

When Wheeler and Byers are distracted Billy looks him dead on, but keeps his voice down. “See somethin’ you like, Harrington?”

Steve, of course, rolls his eyes. “How’d you get that?” He’s a little too loud and it draws the lovers attention again.

He looks at the two of them but ultimately ignores their wariness when he gives Steve a nice smile, real sweet and answers, “Tripped, hit a door knob on my way down.”

Byers makes a noise. Billy shoots him a sharp look.

“Somethin’ you wanna say, Byers?”

The other boy seems to deliberate for a second before shaking his head a bit, taking a bite of shitty lasagna. 

“Nah, just too bad, is all.”

Billy laughs a little. “I still look good.”

Steve laughs. “Sure thing, champ.”

“What, you object?”

“Always.”

Billy gives him something like a real smile, eyes drooping a bit. But it’s school, and they have an audience, so he turns back to the other two.

“So, what the fuck do you do around here when it's so cold your balls freeze off?”

“Uh,” Jonathan flounders for a second. “When it snows there’s sledding.”

“I don’t see any snow, dumbass.” Billy raises an eyebrow. Steve kicks him under the table.

Jonathan shrugs, aggrieved. “I don’t know, wait it out until it’s warm again.”

“Oh that happens here?”

“Man,” Steve scoffs a little. “It gets hot as hell in summer.”

Billy approves.

“What did you do without actual weather? Bet it got boring.”

“Nah,” Billy makes a face. “There was always something to do, or someone.” He grins, making Nancy roll her eyes. 

“Anyway, me and my friends, we used to sell sea shells, jewelry, that kinda thing,” Billy says, stealing one of Steve's apple slices. “The tourists loved that shit.”

“That's… neat.” Wheeler is beyond polite, almost bordering condescending. Billy ignores her.

“I used to take shots of the ocean, when the sun was just rising, sell those, too,” Billy stares at a spot over Jonathan's shoulder, the thousands of sunsets flashing through his memory, before bowing his head and soaking a fry in ketchup.

When he looks up again, Steve appears to have something in his mouth.

Billy scowls. “What?”

Instead of Steve answering because of apparently whatever has taken up residence over his tongue, Jonathan pipes up, “Why don't you still?”

As soon as Billy's eyes are on him Jonathan seems to falter a bit.

“What?”

“Take pictures still,” Jonathan fiddles with his fork.

_ God I'm such a fucking dork now. _

“Camera got broke,” He sucks his teeth so hard his eyes crinkle at the corners, remembering the way his father had thrown it at him, watching as it crashed against the wall.

Steve must know what his expression means, because he's changing the subject, asking Nancy if she can look over an essay of his.

Steve doesn’t know shit and yet somehow seems to know everything. He may not be so book smart but he can read people like Billy never could. One could say he’s a little emotionally stunted.

He watches Harrington, though, as much as he can. He starts to really get his mannerisms, even those of his friends and of that little curly kid.

\----

Snow does start to fall mid January and Billy fucking hates it. The air gets so nippy he actually  _ has  _ to button up his shirts all the way. He always has to wear a jacket and hat and even then he can never get warm enough.

When it gets a few inches deep Max begs him to take her sledding with ‘The Party’. 

“Not until you have proper winter clothes!” Susan stresses out over their barely updated wardrobes.

Neil hands Billy some cash and makes him take her shopping. There’s only a small outlet store and all of the clothes are like, a year out of date. But Max finds a nice puffy coat and some thick gloves and a really soft grey hat Billy threatens to steal. He uses his own cash to buy a thicker coat; neither denim or leather quite does the trick here.

“You’re gonna look like the Michelin Man, dweeb.” Billy snorts when Max sticks her tongue out at him.

“At least I’m gonna be warm, asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He concedes, carefully pulling out onto the main road.

One of the many reasons winter in Hawkins sucks is he can’t drive like a normal person for fear of his car spinning out of control on the mucky slush and black ice.

God he fuckin’ hates it here. As soon as he thinks it, though, Steve Harrington’s stupid, pretty face pops up in his head. That dork has been wearing the most obnoxious coat to school and if Billy hadn’t already known he was falling for Steve, he definitely would have when he was more endeared than disgusted by the neon pink and blue synthetic material.

“Now what should we do with the rest of Neil’s cash?” He lays a devious look on his step-sister, liking the way her face lights up.

“Milkshakes!”

“Maxwell, it is negative a thousand degrees outside, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“ _ Fine _ ,” She pouts. “Hot cocoa, from Luna’s.”

Jesus, it’s been a while since he’s been there.

“Deal, kid.”

The place is mostly empty, which is unsurprising for a Thursday at six-thirty in the afternoon.

Billy picks the booth he and Steve have used in the past and they are quickly greeted by a waitress. She must be new because Billy doesn’t think he’s ever seen her and she also must be from a different town because she eyes up Billy like she’s never seen a male specimen in her life.

He flashes her  _ that  _ look simply to humor her and to make Max gag.

They both get hot cocoa and french fries and Billy lets himself relax for once. He slumps in his seat and drinks his cocoa and lets Max go on and on about some stupid game she keeps beating the boys at.

“Do you do anything other than play video games?” Billy snarks, shoving a few fries in ketchup then his mouth.

“I annoy you,” She makes a face, eyes going wide and mouth set defiantly.

“Got that right.” He makes a clicking sound with his mouth, squinting a bit.

She sticks her tongue out again, smiling into her cocoa.

He takes a moment to appreciate this. Feels almost like he might cry he feels so fucking normal right now. Neil’s mostly laid off of him lately, since the holidays went over so smoothly and Max and Billy have been getting along well enough. He can let himself enjoy this moment, reflect on how much shit has changed since just three months ago. He doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

\----

It snows horribly that next weekend, but Max still insists on meeting The Party at the arcade. And of course Neil agrees, gives Billy strict orders not to not leave the arcade without her, to stay with her at all times, the weather is supposed to get worse, blah blah blah. If it was going to get worse then Billy shouldn’t even have to be out.

He’s fucking annoyed.

Max bundles up to go out and Billy makes fun of her, leaning a little closer to actual cruelty than usual.

“Stop being such a dick,” Max scowls and punches his arm after his fifth joke about how fucking  _ stupid  _ she looks. 

He grabs her wrist, holds it tight. “Don’t hit me, Max,” He squeezes for emphasis, shooting her a hard look. He lets her arm go, shoves it back at her really, and they’re quiet for the rest of the ride.

When they get to the arcade of course Steve is there, wearing that ugly fucking coat and a soft looking hat and cigarette in his un-gloved hands. It just serves to annoy Billy more.

This weather fucking sucks, it’s so fucking cold, and the snow just keeps fucking  _ coming _ .

He gets out anyways though, because Harrington smiles when he pulls up next to him, says hi to Max.

Billy hears Max mumble something about him ‘being in a mood’ to Steve, and gives her a nasty look.

“Shut the fuck up, brat, go inside and play your little nerd games with your little nerd pack.”

She rolls her eyes, mostly ignoring him and retreating into the probably warm arcade.

Billy leans against his car, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, face halfway shoved in the scarf Susan knitted him. His eyebrows crowd together as he watches Steve watch him. Steve looks mostly unaffected by the cold, puffing away at the cigarette.

“This shit fucking sucks.” Billy complains, frown deep.

“Yeah, well, get ready for about three more months of it.”

Billy growls, frustrated and cold. He turns right around and gets back in his car. He thinks about driving away but then Steve’s opening back up his door.

“Let’s go inside, they’ve got pizza.”

Billy scowls. 

“Come on,” Steve holds out his hand, face expectant.

So of course Billy takes it, and Steve’s hands are freezing and he wants to keep holding them, just to warm them up, obviously, but he doesn’t because maybe for once he does have self preservation. 

The pizza isn't all that great but it's warm and he gets to crowd close to Steve, smell his fancy shampoo. Steve smells different in winter then in fall. Sharper, maybe a little sweeter. Wonders what he smells like in summer.

Billy's in a bit of a better mood by the time they've gotten through the pizza and he's able to actually muster up a smile when Steve cracks a joke about Max's coat.

"Steve," Billy says suddenly. He swallows hard, regretting it immediately.

"What?" Steve turns to look at him, and they're so close Billy's heart starts to race. They're being too obvious;  _ Billy's  _ being too obvious, despite them being mostly alone apart from their kids.

He changes tracks and looms closer, conspiratorially. "I dare you to dump your Coke all over that game Shirley Temple over there is playin'."

Steve scoffs. "You're an idiot."

"Come on," Billy eggs on. "Don't be a pussy." He doesn't actually want Steve to do it, but wouldn't be horribly mad if he did.

"Don't be such a child." Steve sounds so self-righteous, but Billy sees right through it, grins. "Dustin would kill me if I got us banned from this place."

He's got a little knowing smile on his face and it distracts Billy from seeing said kid come up to the table.

"Harirngton, we need a ride to The Hill."

Steve turns his head quickly, blinking his kid into focus. "What?"

"Sledding, Steve! It's perfect for it." Henderson emphasises by pointing aggressively out the large front windows.

"Do you even have sleds?" Steve's face twists in annoyance. 

"We shoved some in your trunk last week, just in case." Hendersons grin is toothy. Billy snorts.

"Hey, Hargrove," He finally acknowledges the older boy.

"Curly," Billy takes a bite of pizza around a satisfied smile when Henderson rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, alright, who's going?" 

"Everyone, we're meeting Jane there."

Billy perks up at that. "Oh, I finally get to meet the infamous Jane?"

"How the hell do you know about El?" The younger Wheeler is now crowding the table. The others follow suit.

"Who knows about El?" Sinclair asks.

"Billy," Steve supplies, shrugging a little, making a face like it's no big deal.

"What the hell, Harrington?" Mike Wheeler looks outraged. 

"Hey, I didn't tell him anything!"

"What the fuck is going on?" Billy's maybe a little too aggressive about it because suddenly everyone is silent. 

"Nothing, she's a friend of theirs. Weird girl." Steve says. And Billy can read this mannerism; Steve wants him to drop it.

"Yeah, alright," Billy scoffs, good mood ruined.

"So," The little Byers speaks up, quiet as ever. "We going sledding?"

Steve sighs. "Did you make sure with Joyce?" 

"I told her it was a possibility." Will Byers shrugs.

"Guys, it looks like shit out there." Steve complains, gesturing widely outside.

There's a chorus of complaints. Max shoves at Billy's shoulder and he traps her wrists again.

"Max, if we're fucking late…" Billy warns her, and everyone is paying attention so he tries not to give himself away.

"I know, I know," She whines, struggling to get herself free.

He scowls.

"I  _ know _ , Billy! Come on, have a little fun!" She's grabbing his wrists back now, shaking his arms like a wiggling worm.

He huffs, not fully able to stop himself from finding her excitement endearing. He's fucking irritated but at least he'll probably be able to just sit in his heated car.

"Fine, we're in," Billy says, looking expectantly to Steve.

There's another chorus of excitement from them all directed at Steve.

"Alright,  _ alright _ ! Shut up, I'm in." Steve rolls his eyes hard when Henderson looks too fucking pleased. All the kids grab their coats and gloves and hats from the chairs at Steve and Billy's table.

"Look what you did," Steve shoves Billy with his shoulder, leaving it against him for a moment. Billy's breath stalls for a second and he covers it by shrugging, standing and following the kids out.

"Fuck it, never been sledding before."

Steve follows suit, zipping up that ugly jacket. "I thought you hated the snow."

Billy smiles all sweet and shit. "I'm just now seeing it's potential." And he shoves Harrington into the snowy bank.

He hears a bunch of brats shouting his name, affronted. But he just starts laughing. He laughs loud and real. Especially when Steve rolls onto his back, face splitting with a wide grin.

The kids seem to catch on because then Henderson is laughing, falling to the ground by Steve and shoveling snow into his face.

It makes Billy laugh harder.

"Hey, shithead, keep it up and I'm not taking you anywhere!" Steve shoves the kid away, both of them chuckling. Billy leans against his car, tucking into his coat, lighting up a cigarette with purpling fingers. And he knows how he's looking at Steve but can't seem to stop. He puffs sharp at his cig.

"Billy," He hears Max say quietly, close to him. She sounds careful.

He blinks, looks down to her. She's frowning. Jesus, what'd he do now?

"What?" 

"Billy," She draws it out, quieter still, sparing a glance at Steve.

God, she fucking knows. Of course she fucking knows.

"Leave it," He whispers harshly, looking back over as the group of boys starts getting themselves together properly, filling into the Beemer.

"Who wants to ride with me?" Billy shouts loudly and all of them pause. Sinclair looks unsure at first but after sharing a glance with Max closes the Beemer's back door and trots over. 

The other boys scoff, making lazy attempts at making fun of him. But it's frigid so they just slump in and buckle up. Steve's got a look on his face when Billy checks back with him. Billy ignores it.

"Lead the way, Harringron." Billy tosses his cigarette into the snow and plops his ass into the freezing leather seat of his Camaro. Max rides in the back with Lucas and it feels unfairly cold up front. 

He blasts the heat but it doesn't actually make a difference.

The kids are arguing, but it sounds good natured enough Billy doesn't snap at them. 

He turns the radio on but keeps it low, to be fucking nice. He’s just glad the fucking Christmas songs are over.

“Hey Billy, can you put on my Madonna tape?”

He eyes Max in the back seat through the mirror. “You promise not to sing?”

Her face scrunches up. “Asshole,”

He snorts, but does as he asked, grabbing it out of the glove compartment and popping it in.

“Turn it up!” Max hits the back of his seat, jittering in her seat as soon as  _ Material Girl  _ starts.

He blasts it to deafening levels but it’s Max’s favourite song so she doesn’t actually care. She does sing along though, and as embarrassed as he looks, Sinclair joins in. Billy finds it fucking hysterical. He wishes he had a camera. When it’s over Max slumps dramatically back in her seat, like she’s spent.

He turns it down to a more appropriate volume for  _ Angel _ . The lyrics have him freezing up.

Billy can admit to at least being self-aware. His mind unhelpfully supplies an image of Steve, smiling, eyes big and brown.

After the third ‘ _ ooh you’re an angel’  _ he skips over it. And Max might have complained if  _ Like a Virgin _ wasn’t next.

But even these lyrics make him want to cry, maybe laugh outright. He doesn’t do either; instead he sings. He fucking sings in front of his little sister and Lucas Sinclair, beating a rythm onto the steering wheel and he only stops because he’s laughng so hard at himself. Max is laughing, too, and Lucas looks like he might burst. His eyes are bright and cheeks all puffed out.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh away, Sinclair,” Billy snarks in the back, still smiling a little. 

“You know,” Lucas starts, sliding a little forward. “You’re not half bad.”

Billy looks at him suspiciously.

“You’re freaking awful.”

And that gets Max laughing again, Billy grabbing (and missing) at the both of them in the back.

Then Steve is stopping and parking at the side of a big hill, all of the boys falling over each other in their haste to get out. Fuckin’ animals.

Billy doesn’t get out with Max and Lucas, sits in the warmth for a little bit longer. He rubs his hands together, watches as they all grab out sleds from the back of Harrington’s Beemer. He’s freezing just looking at them. So he doesn’t know how somehow Steve actually coaxes him out of the car, opening his door for him again, reaching out another freezing hand. This time Billy doesn’t automatically let go because there’s no one else around but the kids, and they’re already running up the hill.

“You gonna go down?” Steve asks, gesturing to the hill.

Billy smiles sleazy. “On who?”

Steve humours him with a little laugh, letting go first. “I’ll race you to the top.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Billy thinks for a second, considering the sizeable hill to their right. “Deal,” And then he’s off.

He slips and slides a little bit, but the race gets some adrenalin kicking. Even though Steve tries to play dirty by gripping the back of his jacket. They’re both laughing and breathing hard and distantly he hears the kids shouting, cheering.

It’s hard as fuck to run in snow and his boots have no grip so about halfway up the hill he goes down, taking Steve with him.

Steve falls half on top of him, half buried in the snow but he’s laughing, face all lit up and fucking beautiful.

Billy makes a hysterical sound, yelling and laughing, huffing deep breaths. He grips the front of Steve’s jacket, ready to throw him off of him. But Steve gets this look in his eyes. His smile gets softer and snow flakes start melting on his eyelashes and Billy is altogether fucking winded.

“Draw?” Steve offers, quiet, leaning closer into Billy’s space.

Billy knows the kids are right up the hill from them, can probably see very clearly how close they are, but he doesn’t even fucking care. Not when Steve’s smiling all private at him like that.

“I don’t know,” Billy breathes, trying his best not to look at Steve’s red, wind-chapped lips. “I think I might have you beat by an inch.” 

Steve’s eyebrows furrow, but laughs anyways. He starts to shift and Billy thinks he’s going to get up but he just moves his hands to Billy’s hat, pulls it down over Billy’s eyes.

“Harrington--” His heart chokes him. Steve’s breath is on his lips, he swears he feels them touch his, only for a brief second. Warm and chapped. Then Steve is up and off of him, and Billy fixes his hat fast enough to watch Steve jogging up the rest of the hill, not looking back.

It takes Billy a full minute to get himself to move, heart still beating rapidly. Did the kids see? If they did, he can’t tell from his spot in the snow. He walks up the rest of the way slowly, keeping his eyes on his feet, breath coming out in vast, white puffs.

When he reaches the top he gets to bare witness to Steve and Henderson crammed onto a tiny sled, shouting and squealing as Mike pushes them down. 

“Billy,” Max is right there, face tight. “I  _ saw _ ,” At least she’s whispering. And the boys are distracted.

“Saw what?” He plays dumb, watching Steve and Dustin huff their way back up. Billy looks behind himself, back down to their cars on the other side, considers escaping to the heat.

“None of the rest of them did,” She yanks his arm, getting his attention. “They didn’t,”

And for some reason it must’ve been exactly what Billy needed to hear because his chest loosens and there’s a little more room to feel like  _ what the fuck was Steve Harrington thinking what the fuck is going on _ .

He breathes out a large breath, laying a hand on Max’s head, mussing up her hat a bit. “It’s fine,”

“You don’t look--”

“El!” And then there’s a swarm of kids running past and around Billy, shouting their greeting.

“I thought her name was Jane?” Billy asks to no one in particular. There’s a small girl all bundled up at the bottom of the hill, waiting as the rest of the kids surround her, pulling her, talking fast.

“Nickname,” Steve is at his side, and Billy ignores the way his heart beats a little too fast.

He thought maybe he just imagined it, but Max saw it. Steve fucking kissed him. Kissed him right in the middle of the open, covered in snow.

“How’d they get El from Jane?”

“No, Jane's a nickname,”

Apparently they’re both going to ignore what just happened. Looking at Steve might be a mistake ‘cause his cheeks are all rosy and the tip of his nose is turning pink and eyes really, really bright. He looks happy. Billy wants to kiss the shit out of him.

“You’re all a bunch of fucking weirdos.”

Steve laughs, grins, gives Billy a look.

And then the kids are back, and Chief Hopper is there, too.

“Hopper?” Steve steps forward a little.

“Hey, Harrington,” 

Steve looks confused. 

“El wanted me to come.” He continues, by way of explanation, and lights up a cigarette.

“Slow day, Chief?”

Hopper raises an eyebrow at Billy, unimpressed. “Surprisingly, a foot of snow keeps all the criminals in their homes, well, most of them.” He squints a smile his direction.

Billy kinda likes this asshole.

“Hurt,”

He startles when the small girl is suddenly in front of him, intense eyes trained on his face.

“Uh,” Billy looks to Steve for direction, but Steve’s distracted with something Will and Mike are arguing about. So, he looks to Hopper, who shrugs. “I’m not hurt, kid.”

“Hurt,” She repeats, shoving a finger at his chest. Over his heart. Then pokes at his bruised eye.

“Jesus,” He hisses, dodging her prodding. “Wanna get control of your kid?”

But Hopper looks pleased, like it’s funny. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Love,” She says, gesturing with her head to Steve.

Who the fuck…

“Listen, kid,” He starts, breathing picking up.

“Okay, El, that’s enough, what’d I tell you about  _ looking _ ?” Hopper is herding her around Billy, to the group of other kids. He throws the weird girl a look, but otherwise stays away from her for the rest of their outing.

Somehow Max talks him into getting on a sled with her and as they zoom down Billy feels his stomach flip and settle back to something resembling normalcy.

He races her up and actually stays on his feet, lets her beat him. Simply so he can pretend to be annoyed and shove her into the snow. She’s laughing, and he’s laughing, and even though it’s cold as fuck Billy might not hate the snow  _ that  _ much.

\----

“Why are you guys soaked?” Susan exclaims, keeping them by the door with raised palms so that they take off their wet boots before trudging through the house.

“We went sledding,” Max says simply.

“You’re late,” Neil emerges from the living room. “And why, exactly, are you getting water all over my floor?” He’s looking at Billy though, like why ever they’re wet and cold it’s all his fault.

“We went sledding,” Max repeats, giving Neil a sweet smile, achingly fake. God, Billy gives the girl props. But it serves to make him mad, because if she pokes Neil he won’t lash out at her, he’ll lash out at Billy. For nothing.

“You thought that would be a good idea, son?”

“We had fun,” Billy tries to be nonchalant, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it by the door to dry.

“Would it have been fun if one of you got frostbite?” His voice is cold, rivals the chill Billy still feels in his toes. “Maxine, go to your room, get some dry clothes.”

Billy swallows hard. Especially when Max looks like she’s going to protest. Billy gives her a little shove in the direction of her room, trying to convey silently that her trying to defend him or some shit will only make things worse.

She throws a glare back at him, but stomps to her room anyways. Susan goes back to fixing up dinner in the kitchen, by the smell of it.

“Billy, when will you learn to take  _ responsibility _ ?” He stalks closer to Billy, but he refuses to become cornered, stuck against the front door.

A knock saves him from what else his father might have in store.

The way Neil schools his face, throws up a mask so easily, makes Billy’s stomach roil. He moves out of the way to let Neil open it, removes his socks to keep busy.

He looks up when he hears the voice.

“Uh, hi, you must be Billy’s dad.”

Billy nearly chokes on his heart as it jumps in his throat. Neil is going to know. Neil always fucking knows. What the fuck is Harrington doing here?

“Harrington?” Billy says a lot calmer than he feels. Even raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Hey,” Steve has the good sense to not make fucking doe-eyes at him. “Max forgot her gloves with Dustin.” He flops them around a bit before handing them over to Billy’s father.

“Ah,” Neil is saying, probably giving a pleasant smile. “Thank you…?”

“Oh, Steve, Steve Harrington, sir.” He sticks his hand out. Neil takes it, shakes once.

Billy might be sick. He wants to warn Steve to get the fuck out of here before his father can feel it. Can smell it. Neil could sniff out a fag from a mile away.

“Thank you, son,” Fake fake fake fake.

“No problem,” Steve smiles a little, then turns to Billy. “I’ll see you at school, Billy.”

And then he’s bounding down the front steps, back to his car and Billy wishes it made a difference.

Once the door is shut, locked, Neil rounds on Billy, gripping his son's face tight, shoving him hard against the wall.

He wheezes, stays standing despite it. 

“ _ And _ you let her run around without anything to keep her safe from the cold. Do you know how cold it is out there, Billy?”

Billy wheezes again, wants to say something, anything. Like, as if he hadn’t been out there, too. He doesn’t have gloves. As if Neil cares.

“You are ever the disappointment, Billy.” He spits his name. Like he’s pissing on it, defiling it.

Neil has cold fury. It's calculated, and severe, and meant to hurt deeper than any cut or bruise or broken bone.

Billy is so suddenly exhausted. He waits until his father goes to his bedroom before letting himself slump against the wall. He made it out easy. He basks in that miracle. But only for a moment before hauling himself up, keeping the bile down and locking himself in his room. 

He strips down to soggy boxers and lays down carefully. He stares up at his ceiling for a long time. Lets his vision tunnel and blur. When they burn, he closes them, wills sleep to take him.

Only a few more months.


	4. February, ¹⁹⁸⁵

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoyyyyyyyyy <3
> 
> (not beta'd beyond my own minor editing so all mistakes are from my own dumbass brain)

Billy thinks of the beach a lot. For a while he tried not to, the ache for ocean spray rattling his chest. Now, it's his only reprieve. As snow stacks up heavier outside he thinks of one thing; California.

Not where he moved with Neil, no, he thinks of Santa Monica, of his childhood.

The boardwalk, the waves, the smell, the warmth. His mother.

For the first time in a long time, he lets himself miss her, too.

He dreams of her long sandy hair and the waves as they crashed on her back, making her eyes squeeze shut with boisterous laughter.

Countless times he wakes up crying, unable to stop. He burrows deeper into his pillows and stays that way until he absolutely has to get up.

Steve helps. And even the thought makes Billy’s stomach roil in pain, in repulsion. Because Steve acts like nothing has changed between them, and Billy is too much of a coward to bring it up. What would happen to him if his father found him out, again? What would happen to Steve? It’s almost enough to get him to stay away, but Billy has always been stupid. Always lacked self-preservation.

Billy has had a horribly sleepless night after another fight with his father. Neil had yelled, and yelled, and never even laid a hand on him. Sometimes it’s worse.

Either way, it left Billy shaky and on edge, close to throwing up from the coil tied tight in his gut. So he slept maybe half an hour, and is now on the verge of passing out in English class.

He feels a kick at the back of his seat. Harrington. 

Billy has been something of a shadow to Steve. Not only for his own private desires to be as close to the asshole as possible, but because the way their classmates eye them up, just waiting for another fight, never fails to amuse him. He can tell the whispers and side-eyes create a nice distraction for Steve, too.

“Hey,” There’s a whisper in his left ear. Too close. Billy’s eyes droop. “You droppin’ off there, Hargrove?”

Billy snorts silently, not drawing their lecturing teacher’s attention. He leans back so far he thinks they might bonk heads. They don’t, though, so Billy turns a little.

“I think I’m actually _ losing _brain cells.” He lies to cover up his exhaustion.

He feels more than hears Harrington’s huff of a laugh.

“You wanna ditch last period?”

Steve’s quiet for a moment before whispering earnestly, “Fuck yeah,”

It makes the flesh on Billy’s nape rise in goosebumps.

When class is over Billy beelines to the parking lot. It’s lunch rush so Steve following close behind, holding onto the back of Billy’s jacket, goes completely unnoticed.

It’s an unspoken rule that whenever they hang out, they always take the Camaro. The air in the car feels actually frozen, like nothing can be spoken into it without disturbing crystallized particles.

Steve, of course, does. 

“You look like shit, man.”

“Gee, thanks,” He huffs, rubbing his hands together to warm them up before grabbing hold of the equally cold steering wheel.

“I just mean…” Steve pauses. “Are you like, alright?”

Billy looks over to his friend. Steve looks so pretty when his cheeks get all pink from the cold. “Don’t worry about me, _ Stevie _.”

Steve frowns a little. Maybe at Billy’s response, maybe at his reckless driving. “You always say that.”

“Funny how none of you actually listen to it.”

“Sorry people care about you, asshole.”

Billy laughs. Actually laughs. _ Care _. Yeah fuckin’ right. There’s never been a single person in his life that actually cared about what could happen to him.

“Okay, pretty boy, keep up the comedy act and I’ll take you back.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else but Billy can feel his restlessness. Can see out of the corner of his eye as Steve’s leg starts bouncing. This goes on for some time as Billy drives aimlessly through the back roads. Billy kind of likes this. Even if the artificially warm air is charged with Steve’s anxiety it is quiet, and by Billy’s definition, comfortable.

Steve ruins the silence again.

“You’re not worried you’re going to fall behind?”

“What, in class?”

Steve merely nods, eyes not meeting his.

“Shit I don’t even need to go to class half the time, this stuff is so simple.”

“Simple?” Steve’s face falls a little, eyes dropping fully.

“What, you think this shit is hard?”

“I don’t know, man, I don’t get it, really.”

Billy stops himself before making a rude comment. He’s trying to not be such an asshole. Sometimes it takes some reminding.

“What don’t you get?”

“I don’t know…I'm fuckin' dumb.”

Billy laughs a little. 

“Like, I’m decent at math, history is easy since it’s pretty much just all about memory, but I absolutely do not get Shakespeare. Or like, any of those shitty books they make us read.”

“Nobody fucking gets Shakespeare.”

“I bet you do.”

Billy shrugs. “I’ve got too much time on my hands.”

"And I can't write essays for _ shit _, no matter how much Nancy tries to explain things to me." Steve slumps in his seat a bit. "It's like…I don't know how to string things together, and my thoughts get all jumbled and I'm always losing track…"

Billy's no therapist but it sounds to him like Steve's a little fucked up.

"Steve, you're just a fucking spaz, not _ dumb _." He throws Steve a look, splitting his attention between him and the road.

"Man, I don't know." 

"Yeah, well I do," No, he doesn't. "You're _ not _ dumb, you probably just need to find a way that _ you _ can learn."

Steve's quiet again, making a little 'hmm' noise with his closed mouth.

"What do you…how do you think I learn best?"

Billy thinks for a second. "Hands on." He just can't help himself. He thinks of their kiss. Wants a repeat. Knows it's dangerous, and probably extremely unlikely.

"How does that help me with essays?"

Billy lets out a deep sigh. "I don't know, maybe try outlining shit first before you actually go in and start writing."

Steve makes another soft noise. "That's not that bad of an idea, man, thanks."

"Anything for you, Harrington." He gives him a lazy smile, mostly real. That's easier to do lately. Smile like he means it.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve rolls his eyes, but he's smiling back. “You’re really not so much of a dick anymore, Hargrove.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy mimics Steve, ‘cause he hears the same shit from Max all the time and he’s sick of it. He gets it; he was horrible, awful, shitty, good for nothing and now he’s punching pillows instead of people.

“I mean, I was a dick too, so, I get it.”

“So I’ve heard.” From Steve himself, in fact.

“Yeah,” Steve chews on his bottom lip like he wants to say something. “Not to get like, super personal or anything but like, I used to use school and shit to feel better about the fact that my parents aren’t really around.”

Billy has noticed. He’s also seen that even when they are they’re kind of assholes.

“You’re parents don’t really seem like they’d be useful even if they were around.” He says it because he thinks maybe it’ll make Steve feel better. The other boy just looks a little frustrated.

“Not my mom, she tries her best, I guess.”

Billy gets that. His mom did, too.

“Anyways, my point is, once I had like, real friends and shit I didn’t feel like I had to do all that dumb stuff anymore, like use my house for popularity and whatever.”

He eyes him carefully. 

“You sayin’ that because I’ve got you assholes as _ friends _now I’m not such a dick?”

Steve chuckles quietly. “I like to think I’ve got that kinda influence on you.”

He’ll be the death of Billy, he swears it.

They argue about music for a while, smoke through half of Billy’s pack, and end up a few minutes late picking the kids up. Steve doesn’t have Curly to worry about today, so as soon as he’s out of Billy’s car (parting with a sweet, private smile) he’s driving away. He makes Billy breathless. Infuriatingly, because he has to be more quiet about it now than ever.

“You ditched?” Max accuses as soon as she’s in her seat.

“Yup,” Pops the ‘p’.

“Lucky,” She grumps, rifling through her bag. Whatever she’s looking for, she must not find it.

“What’s wrong?” He asks it to be nice.

“A note, nothing, I just lost something.”

“A love note from Sinclair?” The glare he receives makes his grin grow. “That’s precious, Maxine.”

“Don’t call me that, jerk.” She uses the arm of her puffy coat to smack his shoulder.

“I’m really hurt, Maxwell.” He swats back at her. She sticks her tongue out. He laughs.

It’s easy when it’s just them. No tension, just able to joke around. To be fucking kids. Siblings.

\----

It’s a weekend, and Max is over at El’s house. Billy just calls her Weird Girl. She seems to like it, by the little smile it earns him. He, of course, ends up at Steve’s house, by the pool. It’s heated so even though Billy wears a jacket and gloves he has his feet dangling in the water. Steve never goes in; not even a little.

Billy thinks it’s fucking stupid to have a pool only to not use it. Especially since it’s _ heated._

He’s sitting on a chair next to Billy, legs spread wide.

“How come you never go in?” He splashes water a little, thinking maybe some of it will land on the other boy.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” He snorts, giving Steve a sideways grin. It slips, though, at the look on his face. All somber, eyes looking far off. He gets that look sometimes, but it’s become less frequent. 

Billy always figured (after that chance meeting) it had something to do with his parents. His dear old _ dad _ more specifically. But Steve’s baggage seems to run deeper. He’s always dodging certain questions, never giving full answers. Like why the fuck he keeps the lights on all night, or why he has that bat in his car. It still gives him the fucking creeps. Billy has thought about asking about what was _ really _going on that night at the Byers’ but Billy is a chicken, so he doesn’t. Maybe one day.

“I’m serious,” Billy looks back into the water. “Try me.”

He waits out Steve’s silence, because Steve does this. He either says the first thing that pops in his head, or he’ll sit there for a while, carefully picking his words.

“A girl died in this pool.”

Billy’s automatic reaction is to recoil from the water. He can’t help that he laughs. 

“What the fuck, Harrington?”

“See, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Um, I think I get murder.”

“She wasn’t murdered.”

“Okay, so she drowned.”

“Kind of…”

“I’m getting real sick of you dodging my questions.”

“Well maybe you should stop asking them!”

He turns and looks to the boy now. Steve is pink in the cheeks, clearly upset. He looks two seconds away from getting up and leaving Billy’s ass out in the snow. And maybe Steve has a point. He’s stopped trying to pry every time Billy shows up with a black eye, or bruised ribs, or shitty attitude. Billy knows Steve just needs some fucking space, he gets it.

Something must read on his face, because Steve huffs and looks down at his lap. “Listen, there’s a lot of fucked up shit in this town, and I can’t...I can’t exactly tell you about it, but…” He huffs again. “I _ want _to, so that’s gotta be enough for now.”

Billy stares for a long time. This town is fucking boring and weird, and maybe a little spooky at night, but he hasn’t exactly seen evidence of such an accusation. He voices as much.

“Man, I’m serious,” Steve’s leaning forward in his chair, so their faces are close.

Billy swallows hard. He’s got a bad idea, but his curiosity will be the thing that kills him.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” He worries at the bracelet from Max. It’s starting to fray.

Steve freezes. “What?” He breathes, misty breath making him look opaque.

“Tell me your baggage and I’ll tell you mine.”

Neither of them breathe. Billy regrets it almost immediately. He’s not ready to talk about his dad. He’s not ready to talk about his mom. And he certainly couldn't lie to him.

After a long moment Steve huffs, leaning back into his chair. He stares into the water, lights reflecting on his skin.

“I'm not ready to tell you what happened to me,” Steve stares ahead and Billy joins him in it, sky turning pink and blue and orange as the sun sets.

Billy's a little relieved.

"I don't think you're ready, either." Steve continues.

Billy doesn't get how Steve always fucking _ knows. _

"What would you know, Harrington?"

Steve makes a small sound, a laugh maybe. "Not a whole fuckin' lot."

They stare at each other for a minute before Billy breaks the tension with a winning smile, eyes falling back to the pool.

They sit outside for a while longer, enjoying the silence, but as soon as the sun dips fully Steve is retreating back into the warmth of his house. Billy only follows when he hollers something about ordering pizza.

Steve has a sizable television set, and a nice VHS player, so settling down on the couch for the night seems like a pretty good idea. They even break into a fine bottle of wine Steve looks a little guilty about stealing samples of. He says it’s his mom’s favourite. Billy figures they have enough money to buy ten more of whatever expensive shit it is, but thinks it’s wiser not to say it. To avoid watching Steve’s body scrunch up and face close off. 

They’re in comfortable clothing, and slightly tipsy, maybe Steve’s wasted, because he starts nodding off against Billy's side halfway through the movie and he has to do everything in his power to not be a dick or a creep.

"Hey, Steve," Billy leans back to shake the other boy awake.

Steve startles a little, head shooting up off of the back of the couch. "Wha--"

"Chill, you were just falling asleep,"

"Oh," Steve frowns a little, almost pouts, before slumping back into the couch with a heavy sigh. "This movie is a snoozer."

Billy chortles. "You're the one who put it on."

"Eh, well," Steve shrugs and yawns. The way he stretches out makes him look like a lazy cat, like he might start licking his paw and cleaning behind his ear.

Before Billy can think of something witty to say Steve’s telephone is ringing. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen the black-and-blue eyed, sluggish boy perk up so quickly. He’s off of the couch and retreating into the kitchen without a word.

It’s two o’clock in the morning and Billy can’t think of a single person in this wishy-washy town that would be awake, much less ringing Harrington up.

Billy hears muffled conversation for a minute before following, leaning in the entryway at a safe distance.

Steve sounds mildly annoyed, but when he settles onto the kitchen floor with the cord wrapped around his torso Billy doesn’t have any hope that the conversation will be ending any time soon.

So with a great huff, he joins the other boy. Steve gives him a look. It’s not mean, but maybe a little confused. It’s absurdly cute.

Billy scowls at himself. Steve must think it’s at him because he says, “It’s Dustin,” with the receiver away from his mouth, shoulders hunched a little.

He rolls his eyes just because, but doesn’t actually mind sitting there only hearing half of a conversation.

Steve doesn’t actually say much, but the look on his face is contemplative. Gets softer the longer Dustin talks. The quiet starts to lull Billy to sleep. He never thought he would find himself, ass firmly planted on Steve Harrington’s kitchen floor, passing out.

He can faintly hear the shitty, boring movie still running in the living room, and Steve’s steady breaths, and the muzzy great story Curly feels the need to share at such an ungodly hour.

This house is peaceful. Big and quiet with nothing looming around it’s expansive corners.

Steve goes on, “I know, me too.”

Muffled talking.

“Something like that.”

More muffled talking. Another voice.

“Is that Lucas?”

Billy tries not to tense at the name. He still hasn’t made up for what he did. Not to him, at least. Steve must feel it, their shoulders are touching, actually pressed pretty tightly together. He raises an eyebrow.

Billy shrugs. Frowns.

“Hey, Henderson, I have to go, are you going to be okay?”

What sounds like complaints. Brat.

“I’m a little busy.”

Whatever he says makes Steve choke a little, turning away from Billy. “_ No _, goodnight, shithead,”

“Sorry about that,” Steve turns back to Billy and they’re awful close. Billy feels a yawn coming on, but he refuses to let it happen because when else does he get the pleasure of counting all of the little moles that litter Harrington’s face. He’s seen them all over his body. Billy matches him a bit in that. Steve’s still talking.

“Sometimes the kids get...nightmares. Dustin’s the only one that calls me usually. He’s--he’s fine.” Steve laughs a little, moves his body in a way that implies it all means nothing. Billy mimics him.

“Sure,” He says it sharper than he feels.

“I get ‘em, too.” He gets quieter, face falling into something unsure.

“What? Nightmares?”

Steve nods. Billy swallows roughly.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Really?”

Billy nods.

“About what?” Steve’s whispering. Billy doesn’t know why, but he matches the other boy’s tone.

“Monsters.” Because it’s the simplest answer.

Steve is amused. One side of his mouth tilts up a bit, his eyes going glassy.

“Yeah,” He says on a laugh. “Me too.”

Billy isn’t sure what demons Harrington has faced. But whatever they are, he wants to know them, wants to look them in the eye.

“It’s like,” Steve’s not looking at Billy anymore. He licks his lips, taking a deep breath. “I die over and over and over again.”

Billy dreams about dying, too. It’s always there in the back of his mind. A twisted, gnarly little thought. How easy it would be to get away from everything. He closes his eyes.

“And then I wake up.”

Billy never seems to wake up from his nightmare. Not in this cold, forgotten town where nothing happens. Where the sun can’t seem to find him. His chest aches at the way Steve’s soft snuffle presses against his side, tickles behind his ear.

“Steve,” He doesn’t open his eyes. Thinks maybe it’ll happen again.

When he feels movement, is enveloped in Steve’s fancy shampoo that smells a little sweeter in winter, he breaths into it.

Steve is unbearably soft, like Billy might break. He thinks it’s possible. His eyes close tighter. If he opens them this will just be real. He can't let it be real.

He lets his hands wander. Feels how feathery Steve’s hair actually is, how soft his old t-shirt is against bony shoulder blade.

Billy takes Steve’s bottom lip between his, breathing hard out his nose. Lets Steve press him into the wall, tilting their heads. Steve makes a sound into Billy’s parted lips as he situates himself to loom above. They press closer until Steve is completely in his lap with both legs bracketing the other boy in.

Billy’s hands fall to his small hips when they pull apart.

He doesn’t open his eyes. His heart pounds and he thinks he might die. What a way to go.

“Hey,” Steve is still so soft. So Billy looks.

Steve’s got a deep flush, and his hair is falling around them both like a curtain. His eyes are bright and scared and Billy feels bile rise in his throat.

He pushes it down and drops his arms.

“Hey,” By some miracle, his voice stays steady.

“Sorry,” And then Steve’s moving away, sitting across from Billy instead of on top of him. He folds his legs up under himself and watches Billy warily.

“For what?” His voice cracks.

Steve apparently finds it safe enough to smile, because he’s got that glassy look again. His mouth is unnaturally red. “Nothing,” He says.

Why is it always like this? Billy wants to get mad, to find it in himself to start yelling or throwing shit and demand answers.

Instead, his stomach swirls and his mind spins and that yawn finally escapes.

“We should…” Steve runs a hand through his hair, covers up Billy’s tracks. “We should probably go to sleep.”

Because it’s closing in on three in the morning and neither of them know where to go from here except bed. To _sl__eep. _

Billy wants to escape so he can process. He doesn’t know where he would go, though. If he were to go home he knows Neil would be able to tell.

_ A father always knows. _

So, he follows Steve up to his bedroom instead of taking his usual spot on the couch. As soon as he's up there, he wakes up. Like a cold bucket of water being dumped right on his head. He watches as Steve grabs an extra blanket out of his closet.

“I’ll take the floor, you can have the bed.”

“I’m not taking your bed, Harrington.” Billy snorts, a little out of body.

He does not feel good.

“You’re the guest,” Steve huffs simply, playful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He tosses the extra blanket on the ground along with a pillow from his bed and follows suit. Billy just stands and watches.

He really doesn’t feel good. Maybe a little dizzy.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed.” There’s fire behind it and he’s not even sure why. He just knows he’s not sleeping in Steve’s bed, alone. Or with him. This is a bad idea, _ was _ a bad idea. Steve’s looking at him with big, confused eyes. They’re almost black in the dim lighting. Steve only has on a lamp tonight; Billy knows he has no intention of turning it off.

Billy yanks the last pillow off the bed and throws it to the ground next to Harrington. He maybe throws himself down too, because Steve gives him a wide berth.

“Um,” Steve blinks a few times. “Okay.”

Billy flops back, no blanket, and immediately closes his eyes.

“Did I do something?”

Unbelievable.

Billy does get angry now. He does start yelling.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His eyes shoot open and he pushes himself into a sitting position. “You’re going to sit there and act like I’m the one being weird?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. His voice raises to match Billy’s. “You’re the one getting angry for no reason.”

“Jesus, Harrington, you can’t just _ go around _ fucking _ kissing _people and act like there’s nothing going on.” His face is scrunched up in a sardonic smile. 

When Steve looks affronted and like he might argue, Billy lowers his voice and drops the smile. “That shit gets people like me fucking killed, people like _ you _.”

Steve makes an absurd noise. “People like _ me _?”

“Yeah, people like you.”

“Do elaborate, please.” There’s a flush creeping up Harrington’s neck, his chest heaving a little.

“Queers, fags, fairies, what the fuck do you think, Harrington?” He sneers.

“Shut up, man.”

“What? Did I strike a nerve?” Billy’s being mean, cruel, but he feels the itch under his skin.

“Shut _ up _, or fucking leave.”

He wants to, because he would rather be fucking anywhere else right now, but he’s ready for a fight. His heart has already picked up speed.

“_ No _,” Billy heaves himself up slowly. “I want you to say it,” He feels himself start to lose control the closer he edges towards Steve.

“Wha--”

Billy cuts him off with a shove. They’re crawling closer to the window.

“_Say _ it, say you’re a fucking faggot.” He’s slicing his own gut. Practically slicing his wrists.

“Billy,” Steve’s got that calm storm brewing, eyes cold and distanced. “There’s more important things in this world than boys who kiss boys.” His face remains passive but his tone is so sure. But Steve doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand his father, or what he’ll do, or what happened in California.

Billy laughs sharp and mean. “You are so _ fucking _naive.”

Steve has a hand on Billy’s chest now, keeping him from cornering him against the wall.

“Do you know what would have happened if any of those little shits had seen us on that hill? Do you know what could happen if someone found out about us in your kitchen?”

“Nobody--”

“Shut up,” Billy holds up a finger. “You don’t understand _shit_, pretty boy, and I’m not going to get fucking killed over it.”

He feels bile in his throat again. It’s so close to spilling over out of his guts and leaving him an empty shell.

He doesn’t say anything as he gets up from the floor and slowly walks himself down and out of the house. He isn’t going to leave. He fucking can’t.

Instead he throws up in Mrs. Harrington’s nice Begonia bush.

He sits on the porch of the Harrington residence for a long time. Long enough that his arms start to go numb and his socked feet are fully soaked and freezing from the snow. Long enough that he starts to cry.

Billy hates admitting when he’s scared. But Billy is, he’s absolutely fucking terrified. How the hell he managed to not only find but _ want _ what is probably the only other queer in all of Indiana he doesn’t know, but that’s just his fucking luck.

He fingers his necklace and bracelet in succession. Plays with the thread that is beginning to unravel where Max did a shit job of tying it on. And then he goes back inside.

The fucking couch that is his savior because it is soft and cushy and never fails to knock him out in ten seconds flat. As soon as he lays down he is asleep.

Dreamless, and peaceful.

\----

Billy wakes up much like he does every time he stays over at Harrington's; to the smell of breakfast. Instead of enticing him it makes his stomach roil in pain. He doesn’t want to face Steve. He’s quickly regretting not having just left.

He hears some banging in the kitchen and he sighs. He’ll just wait out Harrington. That usually works.

When he gets his legs over the edge he puts a cigarette in his mouth. He even thinks about lighting it up just to see what Steve would do. He puts it back in the pack.

Billy purposefully makes some noise against the coffee table, hoping to draw Steve's attention without actually having to say anything.

There’s food set in front of him and the couch dips to his left. He stares at the eggs and bacon for a little while, letting his hair block Steve from view. He can only hear the scraping of a fork against ceramic.

Billy picks up the plate, holds it close to his chest and tucks into the eggs.

“Listen,” Steve clears his throat. “I’m…”

Without swallowing, “Spit it out, Harrington.”

“I’m fucking sorry,” It all comes out in a rush, and he tacks on at the end a “man,”

Billy pretends he doesn't hear him.

"I didn't mean to like, upset you or ambush you, I kinda thought we were both on the same page? But I totally...get it if you don't want to like, hang out anymore or whatever, I know you're mad."

Billy pauses, focuses on just breathing.

"I know you're mad." Steve repeats, louder.

Billy sets down his plate carefully.

"Steve," He says slowly, "I stayed the night."

"R-right, but--"

"If I wanted to leave...you, I would have." He lets a great big sigh release, ignoring how his stomach aches. Because, yeah he stayed to avoid Neil or sleeping in his car but also probably he didn't--_ doesn't _\--want to leave Steve.

It's dumb and stupid and dangerous.

He looks to the other boy finally. Steve looks like he always does. Hair perfectly coiffed, long sleeve Polo and blue jeans. Billy insides buzz, like a whole hive has taken up residence in his head and gut.

"I'm really sorry." Steve says again.

Billy searches his face, looks into his eyes for as long as he can stand before nodding. "Okay."

"Okay?" Steve's shoulders droop, like they'd been tensed.

"Yeah, okay."

"Okay." Steve smiles a little, just a small thing there and gone in an instant.

"Great," He goes back to his breakfast.

When Billy is done eating he takes a shower. A long one. He never gets to take his time at home. Either it's Max banging on the door to let her have her turn or it's Neil throwing a bitch fit over the water bill.

Steve has his own bathroom and his parents have enough money to cover a thousand long showers.

He doesn't even bother with his hair, just makes sure all the curls are at least in place. After changing back into his clothes from yesterday he goes back to the living room to see if Steve is there.

He should get going. Go get Max. He's worried about the time.

Steve is on the floor by the television going through a box of records. They look old and probably corny.

"Hey."

Steve startles a little. He looks back to Billy with those ridiculous eyes.

"Hey."

"I should get going."

"You didn't hear?" Steve gets to his feet.

"Hear what, Harrington?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Henderson called on the walkie, they want us to take them to the arcade." He says it like Billy should know this already.

"How the fuck would I have heard that?" Billy snorts, other eyebrow going up, too.

"You don't have a walkie?"

"Uh…"

"Don't worry, I'll talk to Henderson about it." Steve smiles. They're a whole room apart and it still affects Billy.

\----

"Why are _ you _ in such a mood?" Max says it almost as soon as her and El are in the car.

"Nothing," 

So Max leaves it alone. 

"How's it goin', Weird Girl?" He angles the rear-view mirror so he can see El fully.

"You love?" 

Billy looks sharply at the little head of curly brown hair in his back seat. He doesn't bother responding. So _ that’s _how today is gonna go, huh. 

"What?" Max twists in her seat.

"Billy loves."

He makes a noise, but focuses on the icy road.

"Me?" Max sounds scandalized. For Christ's sake.

He knows El shakes her head because Max is staring at the side of his face.

He looks back and she's got a contemplative frown. "Billy, why are you scared?"

How the fuck is he supposed to handle some 13 year old that thinks she knows everything? El is weird but he doubts she's a mind reader.

"What the hell do you know, Weird Girl?"

"Lots."

He shakes his head, not able to stop the laugh that escapes him.

"What happened, Billy?" Max speaks quietly like there is anyone else here.

"Nothing," He stresses. "Now everyone leave me the fuck _ alone _."

He pops in Madonna because he knows it will get Max to shut up and turns the dial up.

He drops the girls off at the arcade and promises to pick them up when they call.

“You have walkie?” El is looking at him expectantly.

“What the fuck is with all of you dorks and walkie-talkies? No, I don’t have one, just call the house phone.” He yells to Max at the end. She flips him off amiably and drags El away from the car and inside.

Billy leaves before Steve can show up. Or maybe he leaves after, and Steve hadn't wanted to stick around to deal with Billy.

\----

It’s a random day. Nothing particularly interesting has happened except maybe Harrington beating Billy in basketball for once. It’s all together rather uneventful but Max still barges into his room with a bright, mischievous smile.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Billy looks up from his book with a disdainful frown, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “What?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Like fucking hell--”

“Close them!” It’s then that he notices her hands held behind her back.

“If this is some fucking trick…”

“Oh shut up and close ‘em.” Max rolls her eyes but looks extremely pleased.

Just for shits and giggles, he does. He closes them and waits for something to happen. He hears her shuffle, makes an unimpressed face even without looking directly at her.

There’s something being dropped in his lap, right on his book.

“Hey,” He opens his eyes to scold her. What he sees has him stopping.

A walkie.

“_Really _?” He drawls. “Is this some sort of nerd initiation thing?”

“Duh,” Max hops on his bed and takes the walkie back. “Lemme show you how it works.”

She shows Billy the dials and where to put in the batteries and tells him what frequency they all use.

“Hey, how did you afford this?” He asks after she’s already almost to his door.

She pauses, looking like she doesn’t want to say.

“Well,” She rolls her eyes and walks back over to Billy’s bed. “We all wanted to pitch in, but then Steve just ended up getting it himself without telling us.”

Billy makes a face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I told him you would make him let you pay him back.” She’s smirking.

He scoffs. Since when does Max know him so well.

“Alright, now get the fuck out of my room.”

“You’re welcome!” She calls through the closed door.

Billy turns the thing over in his hands a few times before pressing down on the button to speak. He holds it for a long time without actually saying anything, double checking the frequency again to make sure it’s the one Max told him.

“Is this thing working?” He feels silly. Nobody answers at first and he gets a little impatient. “Hello?” He draws it out.

A static-y voice comes through. “Billy?”

“Steve?”

“Yeah,” It sounds like maybe he’s smiling.

They’ve been okay after that night. No other fights and Billy has actively avoided getting himself in a situation where he would be tempted to do anything else with Steve. He has to be _ careful._

“Where are the rest of the brats? I can’t imagine they ever shut the fuck up.”

“Oh,” Static. “This is just my frequency, the kids have their own that they all use.”

“Oh,” Billy’s eyebrows meet. Max didn’t give him any other one.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be bothered 24 fucking 7.” Steve’s laugh is cut off as he must release the button.

“Max, she…” Billy lets up the button, makes a frustrated sound.

“Billy?”

“Thanks, for the walkie...I guess.”

“No problem, man.”

“I’m gonna pay you back.”

Steve is laughing. “Max said you would.”

“Count on it.” Billy is smiling. He catches himself in the mirror and stops immediately. He’s not some fucking school girl with a crush.

“Max said you didn’t like to use the house phone really, so we all figured this would be the best way to get in contact with you in case...ya know, we needed to, or something.”

“Right.” His finger is getting tired from the press and release already. “So, you on here all the time or?”

“I keep it on me pretty much all the time just in case the kids or Hop need something.”

“Hop?”

“Well,” Steve starts slowly. “El is a part of The Party so…”

“Wouldn’t she have her own?” Billy tries everything he can to catch Steve in one of these lies without actually asking again. He’s not trying to start shit.

“Yeah, but...forget I said it, never mind.”

“Okay.” 

There’s a long pause.

“Steve?” Billy taunts a little.

“Yeah, I’m still here, but I, uh, I gotta go, I’ll see you at school?”

“Sure thing, pretty boy.”

He’s sure Steve laughs at it, but if he does he doesn’t press that button.

\----

The school has been heinously covered in homemade heart strings and corny wall stickers but on actual Valentine’s Day it looks like every Love-Sick teenager in town had their way with it.

So much pink and red. Billy thinks he’s going to be sick.

He’s at Steve’s locker waiting for him to put his books away before English.

“Have you read any of it, _ Steven_?” He grins at the glare Steve sends him.

“I...tried.” Steve frowns a little. “But then I got distracted and couldn’t focus so I gave up.”

“Maybe we should start a book club.” Billy muses, slamming the locker door for Steve when he’s done.

It at least gets Steve to laugh. “Yeah, right, like I could keep up with you.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Harrington, I think you do a pretty good job.” And only because the halls are nearly empty at this point does Billy throw a suggestive wink at the other boy. It’s especially cheesy when low hanging hearts keep batting at their floofy hair.

“Shut up,” Steve snorts attractively. His face turns a little pink too, but it’s easy to ignore when they’re immediately being asked about Hamlet’s dead father.

\----

Billy can hear his walkie going off from the dining table. He pretends like he can’t, though, hoping his dad will follow suit.

He can tell it’s Steve but hopes Neil can’t. Steve starts to actually yell and he thinks about asking to be excused. Susan’s cooking isn’t all that great anyways.

“Billy, what the hell is that noise coming from your room?”

“I think it’s an old tape, I must’ve forgotten to turn it off.” He lies, taking a spoonful of peas and slurping them down.

“Turn it off.” Neil stares at him sternly for only a moment before looking back down at where his fork scrapes his plate.

He tries not to look in too much of a hurry and ignores the way Max’s eyes follow him all the way to his mostly closed bedroom door.

Steve’s incessant rambling gets louder when he opens the door to enter and he starts to feel a little panicked. If his dad finds it and finds out he uses it to speak sweet fucking nothings to Steve Harrington it’ll get busted for sure.

“_ Steve_!” Billy hisses. He hunches over the walkie like it’ll protect it and him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“There you are, hey, I was wondering--”

“I’m a little busy, pal, could you keep radio silence for a bit?” He barely contains his annoyance.

“Uh…”

Billy’s nostrils flare a bit. “Listen, princess, I really can’t talk--”

“Billy, what the hell is taking so long?”

Billy tries hard not to startle and with shaking fingers switches the frequency before turning to face his father. Neil is standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Sorry, dad, I got distracted.”

“Susan makes you a delicious meal and this is how you thank her? By _ skipping out _?”

“I just--”

“Don’t make excuses for yourself, if you can’t be grateful then you don’t have to eat at all.”

Billy’s face scrunches up. He’s fucking seventeen and he’s being put in time out?

“I was _ just _coming back!” His voice raises. “I got distracted for like, a second!”

“Do not raise your voice at me, young man.” Neil advances on him, finger raised like he’s a bad dog that’s pissed on the carpet.

“Or what?” Billy chokes a little on his nerve as he says it, waving his arms a little. He regrets it almost immediately because not only does Neil look exponentially more angry but it also drags his father’s attention to what he's trying to hide.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing,” Billy puts it behind him a little bit. Tears start to well up in his throat. He hasn’t even paid Steve back for it yet.

“Give it to me, son.” Putting out his hand, palm up, is a mockery to Billy’s free will. Like he has a choice in whether or not he gives it up.

“It’s nothing, dad,”

Neil huffs. Billy watches his eyes carefully but still doesn’t brace himself when Neil shoves him into the edge of his dresser. They grapple at each other for a minute before Neil finally gets fed up and forcefully twists Billy’s arm to reach for it.

Billy grunts, feeling his shoulder pop. “Shit,” He wheezes. Sharp pain shoots through his arm, tingling his finger tips. Oh God, it’s fucking dislocated. Fuck, it’s fucking dislocated.

His wheezing turns into a high pitched whimper. He doesn’t care if his dad can hear him, he feels fucking dizzy. It’s not the first time it’s happened but he wasn’t fucking expecting it this time.

“What is this?”

“It’s mine!” 

Billy’s head shoots up at Max’s voice. She looks like she might be trembling a little, but she is ever defiant. He sniffles down another mortifying sound, tears pricking the edges of his eyes. Neil doesn’t move himself soon enough and it draws her attention to his hunched over position. Billy didn’t think her winter pale could get any paler.

“Maxine,” Neil almost sounds mad enough to hit her, too. “What are you doing, go back to the table.”

“It’s mine.” Max says again, looking back to Neil. “Billy offered to fix it for me."

He stands with his back to Billy but he can just imagine the face he’s making. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Max looks nervous. “What happened to him?”

“Nothing, he just needs to get some air, now go finish your dinner.”

Neil reluctantly hands the golden child _ Billy’s _walkie-talkie and sends her off sternly. He looks down at Billy, disappointment creasing around his mouth.

On Billy and Neil’s way out, Neil explains to Susan that he is taking Billy to the hospital because he _ somehow _managed to hurt himself.

Billy leans on the passenger side window despite the aching in his right side. He just grits his teeth and breathes deeply.

He grits his teeth and breathes deeply through the lie about playing basketball a little rough with some friends. Through the X-Ray. Through the doctor popping his shoulder bone back in place. Through Neil thanking the doctor profusely for helping his dumb-ass son. 

By the time Billy is home he doesn’t know if he’s going to cry or throw up. At least basketball season is over, he thinks.

\----

He’s in a spectacularly bad mood the next day at school because driving had been fucking difficult, especially when trying to watch for ice patches and trying to ignore Max’s bitching. And even if his arm is just in a sling, everyone at school insists on signing it. He lets them because it makes him feel important, and like maybe if someone knew about his dad they would actually care. He knows he’s fooling himself, but it helps to feel less awful. 

Steve doesn’t notice the sling at first and is clearly pissy with Billy about standing him up for their usual late night walkie talk. It's become a bit of a routine that Billy is more than a little queasy about. He doesn't do shit like this. As soon as Steve does though Billy knows he’s done for.

"Jesus, it’s just a dislocated shoulder.” He tries to shrug the boy off without making it even worse.

Steve fusses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Billy still hasn’t dared to take back the walkie. He lies, “Because I didn’t want you to worry, _ mom _.”

Steve frowns. “Gross, don’t call me that, you sound like the kids.”

It makes Billy laugh, full and real. 

They go to the library with Wheeler and Byers during study hall. Instead of doing homework like the other nerds he takes a sedative to help with the pain and tries to take a nap. He hadn’t slept more than an hour last night.

With his head down on the table, turned a little into Steve so maybe he’ll deter anyone from bothering them, he starts to drift off.

“Are you gonna tell me how that really happened?” Steve is of course the one that breaks the silence. He hears Wheeler and Byers’ pens stop scribbling.

He turns his head to the side, away from Steve. “I already told you, it got dislocated.”

“How?”

“I fell.”

“Bullshit.” It’s whispered, but he knows it’s Byers. He chooses to ignore it.

His silence seems to irritate Steve but at least it irritates him into silence. Billy just sits there with his eyes closed and heart thumping a little harder than usual. He can’t nap now, for fucks sake. After a while of Jonathan, Nancy and Steve talking in hushed tones about homework he feels a hand on his leg.

“Billy,” The hand moves to his hip. “The bell’s about to ring.”

He sighs through his nose, opening his eyes slowly. He stretches his body out at an equally lazy pace, enjoying the way Steve’s eyes still roam over him despite his busted shoulder.

He smiles at Steve real small, because he’s _ okay _. It’s not that fucking bad. He did all his crying last night.

\----

He gets to take the sling off after a couple days but finds he still needs the pain medication.

He doesn’t feel like doing much of anything when his arm is still mostly immobile. He reads and talks to Steve on the walkie (only when he knows Neil won’t bother him) and sometimes the other kids will hop on Steve and Billy’s frequency to rant about something or force Billy to come out of his little pity-party of one to drive Max somewhere.

“I can’t even lift for another like, six weeks.” Billy shoves a fry in his mouth.

Max spilled to Lucas about Luna’s and then Lucas spilled to Dustin and then suddenly all of the kids knew and insisted they be able to bare witness to Luna's absolute killer milkshakes and fries.

Steve sips at his coffee, looking like he’s not sorry for Billy at all. “Yeah, you’re looking a little soft around the edges.”

Billy knows he means it in more ways than one, and is unimpressed.

“I could probably still bench press you.” He says, smirking.

“I’d pay to see that.” Dustin says from beside Steve.

“See what?” Mike peaks his head from behind Steve where he and Will got their own booth.

“Hargrove bench press Steve.”

Mike snorts rudely. “Yeah, right,” He plops back down.

“Brats, all of you.”

Max elbows Billy from his left.

When he gets her back, and then it’s a war of who can hit who more, he gets to use his shoulder as a crutch, fake groaning in pain. 

“Oh shut up, dork,” Max throws a fry that gets stuck in his hair.

Dustin falls to pieces in laughter.

He grumps and doesn’t bother removing it; Steve does, though, because “You look fucking ridiculous.”

\----

Sometimes they talk about shit that Billy doesn’t actually want to talk about. It’s easier behind a walkie-talkie than in person, though, so sometimes he spills his fucking guts.

Billy pffts, holding down the button and speaking quietly. “For a ton of reasons, I guess.” He shrugs to himself.

“Like at first it was because he’s black, my dad wouldn’t—didn’t—let me get away with not ‘protecting the precious golden child’ and then I guess it was more about…Like,” Billy huffs angrily, face scrunching up as he tries to breathe. “Like, why should she have friends, be happy, when I’m fucking miserable.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. “Billy, you can’t just—you can’t take out your anger on a kid just cause shits not going your way.”

“Obviously I know, dipshit, I’m…we’re past that shit.”

They’re quiet for another long moment. Sometimes Billy likes to pretend he can hear Steve breathing on the other end.

“What do you mean your dad didn’t let you get away with it?”

Billy huffs, burrowing the back of his head further into his pillow as he tries to think of a way to respond. He’s apparently quiet for too long because Steve’s breathing into the speaker and calling his name in a quiet way that makes Billy wish he was there with him.

“Lucas came over one time and Neil got really pissed off and kicked him out. Him and Max aren’t technically allowed to see each other anymore.” He snorts.

He’s tried holding Steve off Neil’s scent for as long as possible. Steve can have his secrets if Billy can have his.

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, well,” Billy makes a face at his closet, like Steve could see him. He yawns.

“Cool that you help them sneak around, though.” Billy can hear Steve’s crooked smile.

Sardonically, “I’m pretty fucking incredible, I know.”

“You’re alright,” Steve’s still smiling.

Billy checks the time when he feels another yawn come on. “Lights out, pretty boy.”

“Lights out,” He sounds regretful, like there’s more to be said. Like they don’t see each other every day at school and nearly every weekend. “See you Monday.”

Billy doesn’t respond, turning the volume as low as it will go without actually turning it off. He puts it under his pillow and rolls over to stare at the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also idk i kno not everyone thinks the same so i j wanna say that steve is a lil innocent or whatever not j cus hes from a small hick town but bcus hes still a fucken kid and i was Dumb at his age (as like we all are??)

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @ fagstache_ and follow my harringrove playlist on spotify heheheh https://open.spotify.com/user/toopka.dar/playlist/4wvvPp9v6CYWZVCNcVXlzZ?si=FXeNXYcnRZmsjgLWIvYmWw


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